Tribute
by Crackinois
Summary: Life in District 8, like everywhere else, is in service to the Capitol. For former Hunger Games victor, Jane Rizzoli, each day is spent trying to cope with the pain of haunting memories. Can a seamstress give her something worth fighting for?
1. Awake

**Tribute**

**Author's Note: **This is Rizzoli & Isles set in the Hunger Games book universe. The fic will not be set during the timeline established in the books but may borrow some minor characters from the books while completely discarding most major ones. As such, Hunger Games spoilers in this fic will be mostly in terms of setting and history, though Rizzoli &Isles characters have been written to mirror the scenarios presented in the books and faced by Suzanne Collins's characters. This fic does depict violence. It will eventually be a solid M and will be moved.

**Summary:** Life in District 8, like everywhere else, is in service to the Capitol. For former Hunger Games victor, Jane Rizzoli, each day is spent trying to cope with the pain of haunting memories. Can a seamstress give her something worth fighting for?

**CH 1: Awake**

There was no shortage of wailing in the projects. That's why she chose to live there instead of the fully furnished and plush house provided to her in the Victor's Village. Tortured screams brought on by nightmares that came more often than not blended into the cacophony of misery down in the dingy blocks with the crumbling tenement buildings packed like sardines in the ugliest part of an already ugly district. The noise was a painful symphony of screaming babies, sick old people and injured workers with no money for proper medical care, not that there was much of that even for those who could afford it. No one heard her wake in the night, moaning, screaming, clawing and kicking – sending the glass of water by the bed flying across the small barren room until it shattered to the floor.

The dreams were just varying manifestations of the same theme: the Games. The faces of the other tributes – the ones she killed almost seventeen years ago and the ones she didn't but who her dreams also blamed her for.

Sometimes Frankie was there. _Little brother_, she whispers as she battles the memory of him.

Everyone says the victor has it made: a lifetime of ease provided by the Capitol, the reward for the entertainment provided in the arena. A band-aid over a gaping wound that can never be healed: a life destroyed, sacrificed in order to be the living reminder to all in Panem that the Capitol always wins.

_Little brother_, she whispers again, thrashing. Frankie shouldn't be in her Games, he was reaped three years after her. But, she shoulders the burden of his death too.

Her arena was somewhere you might like to go on vacation. If such a thing as vacation existed. It doesn't. Everyone in District 8 works…all the time, most more than one job. You couldn't leave the district anyway...even if there was such a thing as leisure.

The mirage: a docile forest, cool breeze dancing through limbs, a crystal blue lake and in the distance the pristine snow capped peaks of mountains. It had been difficult not to marvel at it – the striking verdant contrast to her grey industrial district that always reeked of machinery and fumes. But it wasn't just a forest; it was the arena. It was an abomination and so was everything that went into it and everything that came out. Everyone that came out. One. She was the only one that had come out her year.

"_You killed me,"_ Frankie says in the dream, the sweet brown eyes that looked up to her when they were children are hollow. Tears of blood streak his face and soon spill from his mouth too, _"You killed me."_

And that's when the glass shatters.

Jane sat up, drenched in sweat, chest heaving as she labored to breathe. "I'm sorry," she choked out into the darkness. Always the same futile I'm sorry that's never enough because it can't take away her pain and it can't bring Frankie back. She fumbled for the bedside lamp and switched it on. Electricity. That was one good thing about District 8. They were never without power. No power means no factory operations. And the people in the Capitol love their clothes.

Sleep would only bring more nightmares. Once they came they camped out in the deepest recesses of her mind for the night. What sleep could be garnered in between the waking fits of screaming was restless. She had learned long ago there was no point in trying. Jane swung her legs over the edge of the bed and lingered there for a moment. She couldn't go back to sleep and yet she couldn't stay there. Her tiny efficiency apartment always seemed like a coffin after the dreams. There was only one place to go. She threw on a pair of old work pants, laced her boots and donned her father's old maintenance jacket before slipping into a night that hummed with the whirring purr of the thousands of industrial sewing machines running through the graveyard shift

* * *

><p>District 8 was as uniform as they came. Before the Dark Days it had been the economic center for textiles production. Now, it was a slave to that past. The sweatshop of Panem. Each street, block after block of the same brick and stone buildings dotted with factories. Closer towards the city center the projects slowly morphed into slightly less decrepit buildings. Still brick and stone. But, some occasionally bore the signs of long ago attempts at transformation: embellishment around the windows and sculpted molding that skirted the complexes like some kind of decorative belt. The factories didn't reach into this part of town, no, the factories were nestled deep in the projects – where the workers were. This part of town was for those lucky enough to be born in a slightly higher station – craftsmen, shopkeepers, entrepreneurs – to the small extent the District allowed. She laughed at the thought of "being lucky." It was a matter of degree. Life in District 8 wasn't really easy for anyone.<p>

This middle part of town was also where the Peacekeepers lived – shipped in from the Capitol to maintain order…to maintain subjugation. She passed a Peacekeepers' hub; it was empty. The graveyard shift Peacekeepers would be down in the projects, where people were actually awake and about.

The Victor's Village rose like some cruel joke from the brick red and grey monotony of the city around it. Its own self-contained little hamlet encircled by decorative wrought iron fencing. The ten houses sat spaciously on manicured lawns: the only shred of green that could really be found in District 8. The Capitol's reward. Only three of the houses stood occupied: the first, inhabited by Cayden Crawford, District 8's oldest victor at 65, the second, her house – lived in only by her mother and which she'd not set foot in since the day Frankie was reaped fourteen years ago and finally the house she now stood in front of with ever increasing pairs of feline eyes coming to roost in the window and regard her with suspicion. Jane looked out once more on the pathetic excuse for a village and wondered how different it must be in District 1 or 2, from which the victor usually hailed. They must have a proper village for all their winning tributes. A veritable city within a city.

She knocked on the door.

"How do you always know when I'm up?" The grey-haired man exclaimed with a smile as he threw the door open.

Jane walked in, shooing a couple of curious kittens away with her foot, "Because Korsak, like me, you're always up."

"Nightmares?" He asked, though he very well knew the answer. She nodded, taking a seat at the dining room table and gladly accepting the mystery beer in an unmarked bottle Korsak offered her.

"I hope this is better than old Pete's last batch," Jane eyed the bottle with trepidation, taking a whiff of the hoppy odor before giving in. Prohibition Pete, he kept those who could afford it plied with booze. It could be a dangerous affair, alcohol being illegal and all – too many accidents from workers showing up to the factory shifts drunk or hungover. But, District 8 was a drab and miserable place and the Peacekeepers turned a blind eye to old Pete so long as his brew was good enough to buy them off and not too many workers tested their skill while intoxicated.

"Saw your Ma today." Touchy subject. Korsak knew it too.

"Yeah. And?" Jane replied curtly but with a touch of sorrow. "She well?"

"As well as…well, you know." As well as a woman could be whose husband had left her, who had one son incarcerated – probably turned into some mute Avox slave in the Capitol, who had lost her other son to the games and whose daughter…

Whose daughter had essentially been lost to the games as well.

"Yeah, I know." Jane replied, taking a long draw off the beer. Old Pete had done alright this round.

"How long is it going to go on like this Jane? Between the two of you?"

Jane's face hardened and her brow furrowed as she stared back at her mentor, "She knows where I live."

"And you know where she lives," Korsak replied pointedly.

"Yeah!" Jane slammed her palms to the table sending a stinging burn through the scars in each center that radiated out to each finger, "In the house I murdered 8 people to win!"

She didn't murder eight people to win a house. Deep down, she knew that. She murdered eight people because it was them or her. The female tribute from District 9 that year had run as long as she could; avoided everyone until the Gamemakers forced them together. Her face haunted Jane most of all: the resigned look of defeat but also the flicker of relief – she didn't have to run anymore.

"_I'm glad it's you,"_ she had said as they stood only ten feet apart. _"You seemed…one of the least cruel in training."_ She turned her back and dropped to her knees. She didn't even try to fight; she never intended to. Pure. _"Please. Make it quick." _

"_What's your name,"_ Jane asked.

"_Crysta."_

"_I'm sorry, Crysta."_ Jane slit her throat.

In the years that passed Jane wondered if the girl from 9…Crysta…if she didn't have the right approach. Each day in the Games, each death at her hands she told herself it was one person closer to going home…to being free…to having her life back. But, the life she got back was a waking nightmare. The girl from 9…she was free.

* * *

><p>"Wake up," Korsak gave her shoulder a shake and Jane's eyes flashed open. They had stayed up most of the night drinking but now the light of mid morning was flooding the room. "It didn't look like you were having any more bad dreams…so I let you sleep," he said.<p>

"Thanks," Jane mumbled as she reached for the steaming cup of coffee Korsak set down in front of her. She blew on it, pushing the steam away with her breath and then letting it come back to lick at her chin and nose. When it was cool enough she slugged it down in a couple of gulps, hoping it would take the edge off the mild headache from old Pete's brews.

Jane reached into her pocket and pulled out the small switchblade, flicking it open and closed as Korsak shook his head. Her eyes wandered up to him and back to the blade, she knew what he would say…what he always said. She pulled her jacket off and tied it around her waist before slicing a four-inch long gash across her upper arm.

Korsak sighed and tossed her an old hand towel, "You know, one day she's going to figure out you hurt yourself on purpose just to come by and see her."

_I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die_. The words raced through her head as she ran from the Cornucopia in the arena. Run, that's what they had told her…Korsak and Cayden. Run as fast and as far as you can. Standing there on the platform, looking out at the Cornucopia and the other tributes, it was like a switch flipped. Running won't keep you alive. She had to have supplies; she knew that much, so against Korsak's advice she'd plowed head first into the fray. A couple of bags secured she ran…but she could feel the wet warm liquid seeping down her face. When she was far enough away and feeling safe enough to stop she did…to take stock of her injuries. Blood had never looked so red.

Jane watched the red trickle down her arm for a moment and then wiped it up and held the cloth to the gash, "Yeah…maybe one day."

* * *

><p>The city center was awake now; shops were open and people were bustling about. Jane spied Darla Flannery coming out of her bakery with a broom, intent on setting a couple of street kids to flight. So, she gave Darla more than enough money for a dozen rolls and a few cookies for the kids, which had them scamper off delightfully without needing to be asked twice.<p>

Finally, she rounded the corner and could see her destination. The letters that spelled "Maura Isles: Seamstress and Alterations" had chipped and worn partially away after years with no attention to their freshening up. It would really be pointless to anyway, Maura's reputation with fine fabric was known by all and most of her business was comprised of private orders from the Capitol. But, Jane wasn't there for a fancy silk tourniquet.

The storefront was tiny, a place where Maura mostly kept the items she worked on that people in District 8 would actually be interested in or could afford. Her other work of varying ilk she did upstairs, in her apartment.

Jane knocked on the door and did her best to contain the grin that often tried to plaster itself across her face in the fair-skinned, caramel brunette's presence. "I…uh…" she nodded towards her arm.

Maura shook her head and waved her in, "I swear, Jane Rizzoli, I think you must be the most accident prone person in District 8. Thank God you don't work in the factories, you might not have any limbs left." She smiled that beaming grin of jest, a glint in her hazel eyes as she pulled back the screen that hid the doorway to the back room. The rest of the apartment was just as one might imagine a seamstress's abode to be: fabrics and dummies, drawings and sketches, orders pinned to the wall, garments in various states of completion. The back room was something entirely different: a high, hard table with a thin mattress, disinfectant, medical tools and a pharmacy that rivaled the real pharmacy in town.

Doctors were hard to come by in District 8, but injuries and ailments were all too common. There were several apothecaries in the District, who operated on holistic practices passed down through generations, but none save Maura had honed true surgical skills or had access to medications like she did. When you're a favored seamstress for customers in the Capitol you can ask for a few hard to get things in return. Technically, it was forbidden to practice certain types of "medicine" without a license – anything that was more like real medicine than witchcraft. People in the District needed her services; so people in the district kept their mouths shut.

Jane could afford the real doctor; but she always went to Maura.

"Let's take a look," Maura peeled back the cloth and began cleaning the wound. "So, how did you manage this?"

"Well, Korsak and I were up late, uh…"

"Drinking," Maura completed her sentence with sly smile.

"Yes, that. And, I don't know, I must have snagged it on something while I was…"

"Drunk," Maura added again.

"Yes, that." Jane watched the woman's dainty hands slide over her skin.

"Well, it's quite a clean wound, not jagged or torn…" Maura regarded Jane with an air of amused suspicion as she retrieved some supplies from one of her drawers.

"Oh good," Jane exhaled, "I'd hate to have a bad scar."

Maura laughed, "Yes, because you're always so concerned with your outward aesthetics, what with your underground boxing hobby and all. You don't really need stitches and I'm running low on sutures anyway, my client that sends them has been ill."

She placed a gooey salve on the wound before wrapping it in a clean bandage. "There…all patched up," it took a minute before Maura realized she was still holding onto Jane's arm, her thumbs stroking back and forth across the skin above and below the bandage.

Jane smiled as a slight flush crept up the other woman's neck and colored her cheeks. Suddenly her palms ached and she clenched her fists open and shut to try and vanquish the discomfort. The action was not lost on Maura who reached for one of her hands.

"Do they hurt?" She took Jane's hand in her own and began massaging gently, pressing into the scar tissue and kneading it with her thumbs to Jane's palm and her fingers to the scar on the back of the hand.

"Just…a little. I got a angry last night and slammed them into a table," Jane bit her lip, wondering if this would be the time Maura would ask about them. After she'd won the Games they had hospitalized her in the Capitol, cleaned her up, polished away all the wound scars inflicted by the arena and the other tributes. The scars on her palms were different. She didn't get them in the arena. She got them in the hospital. A special gift. A special reminder from President Hoyt that there are limits to victory. He didn't let the doctors erase those scars. Only Korsak knew how she got those. A few had dared to ask and it sent her into such a seething rage they never asked again. Now, she never offered her hands to anyone…except for Maura.

"I have a new cream I've been working on, a topical analgesic. Would you mind if I tried it on you?" Maura looked her in the eye with a genuine smile, still holding tightly to and massaging her palm. That smile. Jane was fairly certain she'd let Maura thrust her hand in a fire if she asked.

"No, I don't mind."

Maura held the jar to Jane's nose, "Plant extracts, from peppers and mint as well as willow bark, mostly. It's not particularly strong but I think it could be helpful for low-grade arthritis and muscle pain." She scooped a dollop of the cream onto her finger and then worked it into the scar.

"It tingles," Jane watched Maura work the cream until it was fully absorbed and then move to the other hand. The effect was almost immediate. The tingling sensation rolled through her hand and then turned to a very dull burn before fading away, taking the ache with it. "Wow."

"Did that help?"

"Yeah, a lot actually," Jane hopped down from the table marveling at the change and the absence of discomfort. She dug through her pockets and pulled out the remaining cash she had on hand.

Maura reached for her hands and pushed them and the money away, "No…no, you don't need to pay me."

"I know," Jane protested, "but if you're low on supplies maybe this will help, so you know, you can keep helping the people that really need it." She forced the money into Maura's still objecting hands and closed her fingers around it. "Take it."

Maura nodded and they exited the room, taking great care to again conceal the door…just in case. Jane paused at the door to the apartment, her hand on the knob before she turned, "Thank you."

"Jane," Maura walked towards her but stopped a few feet away. She glanced down and fidgeted with the pincushion secured around her wrist by a thin elastic band, turning it round and round. "You…you don't have to be hurt…to come by." It was almost a whisper.

Jane chuckled and nervously swept her hair back from her face as she nodded and then left.

* * *

><p>Thanks to Angela_V for the beta<p> 


	2. Claustrophobia

**CH 2: Claustrophobia **

A victor doesn't have to work. But idle days are a torture chamber for the mind. It didn't take long to figure out that inactivity became the playground of insanity. A couple of weeks at the most after returning from the Games and it is all too clear. Every moment unoccupied by a task becomes occupied with thoughts. Horrible thoughts. Memories. Flashbacks. Nightmares when you're fully awake.

Cayden Crawford sculpted. Wood, stone, clay it didn't matter. His hands were withered from age and calloused from fifty years of transforming rough surfaces into something worth looking at: statues, knick knacks, toys occasionally that he just gave away. He gave almost everything away; there was no room in his house for fifty years worth of the fruits of mind-occupying busy work. That which he didn't give away he stored in the basement, with his stone cutting supplies. No one was allowed down there. Korsak had stumbled upon those statues once – vivid depictions of Cayden's Games: stone busts of the other tributes carved from memory, the Capitol's creations that had been encountered in the jungle – tracker jackers, nocturnal primates and hordes of venomous serpents. The worst were the death scenes – twenty-three fallen tributes memorialized in their moment of demise, the stone polished until it shone with such a gleam you would swear the statue itself was crying. Cayden put a lock on the basement door after Korsak's discovery.

Vincent Korsak took care of animals. There wasn't much use for pets in District 8 but the factories kept plenty of cats on hand to control the vermin. The tame cats had spawned several generations of ferals and no one really minded so long as they kept the mice and rats under control around the projects. Sometimes factory cats would have litters that the factory had no use for. The easiest solution was just to dispose of them – break their necks and be done with it. Occasionally workers or a softhearted foreman would gather up the mewling kittens, tuck them away in a box for the shift and then bring them to Korsak. _People have a soft spot for those that can't help themselves_, Korsak would say. The Purge was a rough time for him – when the rabid disease swept through the district's canine population. The Peacekeepers ordered all the dogs rounded up and destroyed. A few were saved, hidden from the Peacekeepers by Korsak and others. Only in recent years had the Peacekeepers started to let it slide that there were still dogs in the district. Korsak still didn't take any chances and he kept his small pack well hidden and only took them out at night.

When she came back from her Games, Jane did nothing…at first. She tried to sleep, all day if possible, to keep from feeling. But the nightmares made sleep a worse hell than being awake. Going for a walk or run didn't help, it was still empty time owned by the darkest thoughts in her mind.

_You…need a hobby, Janie_. Frankie sat on the bed next to her and tried to touch her arm but she jerked it away. She had only been back a week. All the wounds were gone…well, almost all of them, she stared into her scarred palms. But, they still felt fresh, every place where there had been a mark, every place that once felt the pain of a scratch, laceration, puncture and burn festered with the recall of those agonizing days. _You need a hobby_. At the time the words infuriated her. She bolted upright, grabbed Frankie by the collar, screaming and cursing and threw him out of the room into the hallway. In retrospect, she regretted it, regretted every single time she had ever raised her voice at him or told him he couldn't tag along. In that moment when she tossed Frankie like a rag doll to the floor she had no idea that in three years he would be gone forever.

He had been right. She did need a hobby.

Jane Rizzoli fixed things, like her father taught her to do.

It worked as well as anything probably ever would to keep the memories at bay during the daylight hours. There was no room for remembering when buried under pipes or in a ball of wires. At least she could be useful. Fixing things had practicality, unlike sculpting or rescuing animals. But, to each their own.

"You need new pipes," Jane grumbled as she wiped the profuse amounts of sweat from her brow. The boiler room in the school lived up to its name. It was an empty declaration. Find a building in District 8 that didn't need new pipes. Metal rusted and corroded, gaskets succumbed to the pressure eventually and blew. Things could only be patched so many times, but they didn't make pipes in District 8 and most people couldn't afford a retro fit. If the heater at the school couldn't be salvaged the kids would just have to wear more clothes, assuming they had more. That's what Principal Johnson had said. So, Jane battled the beast, toiling for hours in the steamy and dank room pulling out every trick she'd ever seen her father use to breathe life back into decaying metal.

"Ok," she stepped out from behind the wall of pipes, "try it now."

Jerry Fritz, the custodian, turned on the beast and held his breath. The machine rattled and jerked, clanked and groaned like a steel and copper dragon on the losing end of a valiant fight until with one final screeching protest the grating sound of metal battling metal ceased and settled into the familiar purr of a furnace decades its junior. Jerry laughed, slapped his knee and then slapped Jane across the back for good measure.

Jane smiled and packed up her tools, "You keep those kids warm."

"Thanks to you," he smiled back, haggard and toothless but relieved. A man like Jerry Fritz always struck her. If anyone could come close to carrying a burden like her own, it had to be someone like Jerry. He had been one of the school's custodians since he himself was a teenager. At nearly eighty that meant Jerry had been a part of the life of almost every child that had been reaped from District 8 since nearly the beginning of the Hunger Games itself. He had known them all, every single one. And of all those years and all those children, only three had ever come back.

Jane nodded in somber recognition of what fixing the furnace meant to someone like the aged man in the torn and dirty overalls in front of her. He couldn't help those two children every year that were torn crying from the arms of their people. All he could do was keep the heat running for the hundreds left behind.

* * *

><p>Fixing things was supposed to keep her from thinking about the Games, but today it hadn't. Jane paused at the corner of the Justice Building. A definite chill was settling into the air, hence the maintenance on the old school furnace. The dropping temperatures didn't just mean that the full force of fall would soon barrel into winter. It meant the Reaping was just on the horizon. It would come before that chill turned to cold, when children didn't need to don coats just yet so that they wouldn't be hidden under layers of fabric when their selection was broadcast to the rest of Panem.<p>

The Reaping this year would be different than most. The words rolled around in Jane's head as she stared up at the stone archway to the Justice Building. What special sadism did the Capitol have in store for them on this occasion?

_A Quarter Quell._

There was no justice here.

"Rizzoli." The stern voice spun her around. There he stood, in that pristine white Peacekeeper's uniform. He wasn't an imposing man in stature, not anymore at least though Jane couldn't recall him ever looking that imposing in his younger years. Not terribly tall, balding, grey hair and blue eyes that dulled with each passing year. However, his reputation alone was enough to stiffen the body of anyone he passed, to quiet even the most innocent of conversations. Even the other Peacekeepers regarded him with caution.

Head Peacekeeper Patrick Doyle was not one to be trifled with.

"Sir," Jane responded, reaching down to pick up her toolbox she had set on the ground.

He stepped squarely in front of her, held her eye for a moment and then raked his gaze from her head to her toes before settling on her toolbox.

"Maintenance," Jane cleared her throat, "on the heater at the school. It's uh, starting to get cool. It'll be winter soon."

"Yeah, I get the Capitol weather reports," he countered dryly. "I don't like loitering around the Hall of Justice, yet, I always seem to find you here…some might say in thoughtful repose. Though I often have my doubts as to the innocent nature of your musings."

Jane swallowed. Doyle was right. The Justice Building didn't conjure innocent thoughts. Seventeen years ago she had been led through its doors for the first time and it remained forever synonymous with the start of a terror so indelible that it stained her to the core. She longed for the day when she might see it rendered to rubble and ash; she would give anything to have a hand in its destruction. No, the moments when her passing by froze her in front of the great, grey monolith were not moments of thoughtful repose.

Her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed, "I…"

"Jane!" The familiar voice sliced easily through the palpable air between herself and Doyle. They both turned their heads to see Maura Isles wiggle her fingers in a friendly wave as she strode towards them.

Jane smiled; the mere sight of her was enough to challenge the hold Doyle's presence had on her. She felt her shoulders begin to relax, the thoughts of insurrection and destruction carried away on the wing of the breeze that drew Maura the rest of the way to them. "Hey, Maura…"

Maura didn't have much of a concept of personal space. She often stood unnaturally close, let her touch linger for those extra seconds that some might deem awkward. Jane never minded. She was standing particularly close now. Her hand threaded under Jane's arm and squeezed as she pressed her side into Jane's and turned to face Doyle. _Curious_, Jane thought, even Doyle seemed pacified in her presence. They stared at each other, neither looking away, neither paying much heed to Jane noticing that they didn't look away. Finally, Doyle blinked and took a half step backwards.

Maura turned her head, "Jane, I'm so glad I ran into you. One of my sewing machines is acting up; I believe it's the motor. I thought perhaps you could take a look. That is unless of course…" she again trained her eyes on the grizzled man in front of them, "…Peacekeeper Doyle was detaining you for some indiscretion."

"No," he answered, with the tipping nod of his head, "you're free to go."

* * *

><p>"How's your arm?" Maura inquired as they entered her apartment. She laid her fabric shipments down and immediately reached for Jane, barely giving her time to respond.<p>

"Almost completely healed," Jane shrugged out of her father's old jacket and rolled up her sleeve so Maura could inspect the self-inflicted cut from twelve days ago. The wound had knitted back together with ease and the pink from the new skin was already beginning to fade.

Maura ran her finger over the scar, "Very good." She knelt and retrieved Jane's jacket from the floor, running her fingers over the tears, holes and stains as she folded it and draped it over the back of a chair.

"So…" Jane reached for her toolbox, "…take me to the sewing machine."

The rattling of dishes that Maura retrieved from the cupboard in her kitchen left her oblivious to Jane's request. She set out two small plates, cutlery and two glasses.

"Maura?" Jane walked into the kitchen to be sure she was heard. "The sewing machine?"

"Oh!" Maura chuckled, "There's nothing wrong with any of my machines. Well, actually that's not true. The motor in my oldest machine has been giving me trouble lately, but I'm more than capable of disassembling it and rooting out the problem…I prefer to fix them myself, keep my skills fresh." She paused. "I saw you talking with Doyle. You seemed very uncomfortable; I thought perhaps you could use a good cause to excuse yourself from the situation."

Jane smiled sheepishly as she leaned back against Maura's counter and pressed her thumb into the scar on the opposing palm, "Thanks. He…I don't know. There are all the terrible things he's done under the thin guise of orders from the Capitol. But, it's more than that, there's just something about him…"

"He's unsettling," Maura added. Jane nodded in agreement. "On the few unfortunate occasions I've had to look him in the eye…like today…I can't help but be struck by the feeling that the rumors of his extralegal cruelty hold more truth than fiction." Maura handed Jane half the portion of sliced bread and herbed cheese she had just been mixing with a thin slice of corned meat on top.

"Thanks," Jane accepted the plate, but looked down guiltily at the bread and cheese when Maura opened her nearly barren fridge to put the little remaining cheese mixture and bread away.

Maura took a bite of her slice and hummed in pleasure, "Mrs. Forrester has the apartment over the maintenance room. Her kitchen pantry stays unnaturally warm. Several years ago she managed to procure a UV light. She grows the dill in her pantry." Maura laughed, hazel eyes smiling at Jane as she brushed a strand of her hair back. "It's quite an ingenious set up."

Jane took another bite. It takes a special person, she thought, to place a bit of bread with a thin smear of herbed cheese into an otherwise empty refrigerator and rather than lament the lack, praise the ingenuity of the neighbor who grows the scraggly herbs under a light bulb in her kitchen pantry. A special person, indeed.

* * *

><p>Jane stood in the courtyard of the Victor's Village and stared at the remaining distance between herself and her mother's house. She didn't like to call it her house. Calling it that meant owning her actions in the Games. There had been no nightmares last night. She couldn't help but be struck by the realization that she'd never had nightmares after a visit with Maura, no matter how short. Something about the woman's irreverent optimism in the face of daily struggle chased the demons away. There had been no nightmares but the image of Maura's empty fridge had gnawed at her. The seamstress turned apothecary on the side poured everything she had into helping others. Thirteen days ago she had mentioned being low on supplies, no doubt she had spent all of her wages on restocking to the neglect of her own care.<p>

The walk to the front door was heavy. Jane and her mother didn't speak, but Angela dropped off a week's worth of prepared meals outside her apartment door every Sunday. Sunday was two days away, even if there weren't prepared meals, there would be basic supplies. Besides, they could afford more.

The house was empty, as she expected. Angela worked the soup kitchen down in the projects, feeding the factory workers on their lunch shifts. It was eerie, how completely the same the house looked from the last time she'd set foot in it fourteen years ago. The television sat in the same spot in the living room, on an old table a few feet from the sofa.

It was only the second day. _RUN!_ Jane screamed at the tv, unable to sit she paced like an agitated animal around the living room. Angela sobbed uncontrollably into the sofa cushion she clutched to her face. _FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE! BE BETTER THAN SOMEONE ELSE AT SOMETHING!_ She didn't mean it like that. Frankie was better than most people at a lot of things. He was a better child, a better sibling than she was. He was a better human being than just about anyone. But, compassion wasn't a weapon that served you well in the arena. He tripped and fell. Jane dropped to her knees in front of the tv as the camera zoomed in on his face. Her fingers trembled as they settled on the screen, swiping through the thin layer of dust to touch his face. _Frankie_, she whispered, _please get up_. The Career tributes were on him before he could regain his footing. He was crying as they straddled him. _I'm here_, she whispered to the screen again. The look on his face haunted her, it always would; she could swear he mouthed her name as the tribute from 1 drove a dagger into his chest.

Jane clutched her heart and fell to the floor; the house was beginning to spin, to close in on her. She couldn't stay here but the bags in her hand reminded her of her purpose. She crawled to the kitchen with her eyes closed, trying to focus on remembering to breathe and not on the sound of her brother's muffled tears and her mother's shrieks of pain. The fridge door flung open, she looted it and the cupboard after it, filling the bags until they could hold no more. She staggered to the doorway and toppled down the stairs landing in a heap of groceries on the walk. She laid there for a moment, catching her breath and letting the sensation of claustrophobia drift away in the open air.

"Jane?" She opened her eyes to see Korsak standing over her. "Jane? Are you ok?"

"I'm…" Jane stood, shoving the spilled items back into the bags, "I'm fine. I gotta go." Her walk turned into jog and eventually as much of a sprint out of the Victor's Village as she could manage with the sacks.

* * *

><p>Maura pinched the bridge of her nose as she entered her apartment. The time leading up to the Games was always busy – there were so many orders to complete for clients in the Capitol. She stumbled through the doorway, exhausted and weak from hunger. She was glad she had saved that last slice of bread and cheese for dinner, if she'd given in to the hunger pangs earlier in the day she'd have no window of respite to try and fall asleep before the angry grumbling in her gut returned.<p>

She didn't even notice the pastel pink box with the light blue ribbon on the counter. Her mind's only thought was of the slice of bread, probably hard and stale, and the thin smear of soft cheese mixed with dill that sat on a plate on the top shelf of the fridge.

She gasped when she opened the fridge to find it stocked with food, stumbling back she looked around. "Hello?" No answer. It was then she noticed the box, the colors and emblem of Darla Flannery's bakery. A note was tied into the ribbon; Maura pulled the ends and released the rolled piece of paper.

_Someone needed to take care of you for a change. ~Jane_

The tears streaked down her face and she let them, not even bothering to wipe them away. The box held fresh rolls and a smaller paper bag full of cookies and sweets. Maura reached for one of the sweets and bit into it, closing her eyes as the decadent chocolate melted in her mouth. _Fudge clusters, my favorite_. She laughed to herself; she hardly ever indulged and certainly no one had ever done anything like this for her. She could almost feel guilty for taking such pleasure in something so trivial. Except…

More tears came. Surely the choice was purely coincidental.

Everyone had seen the boy run into her, completely on purpose knocking her lunch to the ground. He laughed. They all laughed. Maura scanned the cafeteria and took in every jeering face. She'd never related well to her fellow students. In a year she'd be eighteen and her district sponsored schooling would be over. She was both hopeful for it and frightened. She could draw and sew and create beautiful clothes; but she loved books and learning. But at eighteen, assuming you even managed to stay in school that long, District 8 said there was nothing else to teach you. You either went to the factories, some other manual labor field or to the shops.

She knelt down to see if any of her lunch was salvageable.

_Stop it_, a gruff hand closed around her arm and pulled her away from the mess, _they'll just make fun of you more_. Jane Rizzoli pulled her to the end of an almost empty table and sat her down. The kids had had their fun and were back to eating and gossiping. Jane pulled half a pulverized sandwich from her jacket pocket and dropped it on the table in front of her, _Here, eat this…and these. Joey Grant gave them to me as he expressed his undying love for me. Vomit. I don't want them._ With that, she was gone. Maura never even said a word. She ate the sandwich and then opened the tissue bag to reveal three fudge clusters.

They were seventeen the first time Jane took care of her, less than a month later the lanky brunette was reaped for the 58th Hunger Games.


	3. Lavender and Fear

**Author's Note: Rape Trigger **My apologies to the anon who pointed out that I forgot to include a rape trigger warning for this chapter. Reposting the chapter with the warning. Again, my apologies.

**CH 3: Lavender and Fear**

No one could understand. Not really. How could they? How could the people she passed on the street every day have any concept of what it was like to be completely stripped of your humanity? Everyone knew what it was like to feel out of control on some level. They were glorified slaves who toiled day in and day out to serve the Capitol. But, being reaped and sent to the Games was entirely different. You become a pawn of the worst kind, an aberration of your former self. The Games had stripped her life of any value she could have found in it seventeen years ago.

Jane stared in the mirror, dragged the point of her switchblade across the reflection that stared back at her. The thought had occurred to her many times: making right the outcome of her Games. Dying. Ending it. No more nightmares, no more panic attacks, no more days lived in regret and self-loathing. Yet each time she put that blade to skin…

_How did you do it?_ President Hoyt's face was sharp and pointed, beady blue eyes vacant and soulless. He smelled like he bathed in lavender oil but there was some acrid undertone that always bled through his breath and skin. The lavender was meant to cover it up, but it never could quite do the job. _How did you win?_ _So…defiant. Right from the start. At your Reaping, I could see it in your eyes. Hatred and disdain. For me…for the Capitol…for the very system that gives you a secure world to live in. You wouldn't eat our food, partake in any of the luxuries we offered to honor you. Alienated the fine citizens that would have sponsored you. And yet, somehow you lived._ He reached for the instrument tray near her bed and produced a scalpel and pressed the shimmering blade to her neck. _The people don't want to see a defiant victor. I can't have a defiant victor. No…I won't…__**tolerate**__ a defiant victor._ The words came out in a vile sneer. He leaned in closer, so close she began to tremble as his lips nearly brushed her own. The scalpel sliced superficially across her neck and she could feel the familiar sensation of the warm trickle loosed from her veins. Pain. Searing pain as Hoyt impaled one hand and then the other with the silver blades. Jane cried out, screaming, pulling against the restraints that held her hands to bars on the back of the hospital gurney.

"Stop it!" Jane slammed her hand into the mirror, curling her fingers into the glass, afraid to open her eyes. Afraid that if she did it wouldn't be a memory that stared back at her but President Hoyt himself.

_What's that?_ He whispered in her ear, his body heavy on top of her, mixing his overpowering cologne with her own smell. _Is that…fear? Finally. That_, he grunted, _is a becoming scent for you Jane_…_lavender and fear_. He had already climbed off of her and was zipping his pants as the commotion outside spilled into the room. Korsak had clawed his way through guards, orderlies and doctors until he'd finally found her. Hoyt pulled the thin white cotton sheet up over her nearly convulsing body and whispered in her ear one last time, _Sweet dreams_.

The knock at the door jolted her firmly back into reality. Switchblade discarded in the sink she was beset by the same thought that always countered the allure of suicide: to live was to reclaim her defiance of him. She staggered to the door, gulping air as she walked, fighting the full body shakes as the memory of his putrid lavender-tinged stench lingered in her sinuses.

_Air…breathe_. Everything was closing in. It wasn't about opening the door for whoever was knocking; she needed to get out. Out of the apartment, out into the open. Jane fumbled with the lock and the chain slide, flinging the door open recklessly as she stumbled forward.

"Maur…?" Black.

* * *

><p>"Jane…Jane?"<p>

Familiar. The echoing voice was familiar. Soothing. Like the gentle touch she could feel on her cheek and the cool cloth that swiped across her burning brow.

"Jane. Open your eyes."

"Maura?" Jane looked around, noted that she was on her sofa in her apartment. It had been Maura's voice she heard, Maura's hand on her cheek.

"You passed out," Maura helped Jane sit up and moved the wet cloth from her forehead to drape around her neck. "Are you ill? How are you feeling now?" Maura's face was fraught with concern; she touched Jane's cheeks with the back of her hand to test for fever.

"I'm not sick," Jane looked down at her palms, the scars seemed somehow more prominent as if the mere recollection of Hoyt enraged the tissue and made it yearn to bleed. Her hands began to shake, despite her best efforts to clench them shut and still them, they shook.

Maura's hands slid under each of Jane's and cupped them, she worked her thumbs into Jane's grasp until tightly squeezed fists relented and opened. She pressed her thumbs into the scars and worked the aching tissue. "Jane…"

Jane looked up, tears welling up in her eyes and spilling down her flushed cheeks, she glanced down at Maura's gesture, "I can't…"

"I'm not asking you to. Whatever happened; whatever did this to you. It can't hurt you anymore." She believed it. Jane could tell. Maura believed it when she said those words…_it…he…can't hurt you anymore_. But, she couldn't understand.

"Every time I close my eyes…they hurt. It hurts," Jane's face twisted as more tears wrestled their way free.

When Maura wiped the tears away they stopped altogether. Her hands were soft yet firm on Jane's face as she pulled her forward into an embrace, "Close your eyes." She let a silent minute pass until she could feel the tension leak out of the wiry frame in her arms. "Do they hurt now?"

Jane took a deep breath and let her cheek settle onto Maura's shoulder, she flexed her fingers, "No…no they don't hurt now."

* * *

><p><em>Sing to me.<em> Jane let her head fall sleepily to her mother's lap and closed her eyes as fingers set to dual purpose: calming, lulling her to sleep while they raked through the day's tangles in her curls. She smiled, wrapped her arms around her mother's legs as if the chuckling woman needed convincing to stay.

_You're the only one that likes my singing, Janie._

The song was some holdover from before the Dark Days. Passed down through generations. Maybe from a time when most of the people still believed in a God and angels. That time had faded away but some artifacts from it still remained. As a child, Jane had cared less about the deity the song revolved around than the airy tune of the lullaby.

_Sleep my love, and peace attend thee_

_All through the night;_

_Guardian angels God will lend thee,_

_All through the night,_

_Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,_

_Hill and vale in slumber steeping,_

_I my loving vigil keeping,_

_All through the night._

_Angels watching ever round thee,_

_All through the night,_

_In thy slumbers close surround thee,_

_All through the night,_

_They should of all fears disarm thee,_

_No forebodings should alarm thee,_

_They will let no peril harm thee,_

_All through the night._

Jane's eyes twitched, struggled behind closed lids. The long ago song hung lazily in her ear, the verses fading in and out on a soft and distant tone. Memories of a past life.

It didn't feel like a dream. No, the touch was real. Fingers sliding through her hair: that same sensation that used to coax her into slumber, that primed her for welcomed dreams as a child. Jane slowly opened her eyes, "Ma…?" she mumbled.

The fingers stilled, "It's just me."

_Maura_. Fully awake, Jane lifted her head from Maura's shoulder where it had fallen during their embrace and evidently stayed. "I…" Jane looked down, embarrassed.

"You fell asleep. I thought you could probably use the rest." Maura smiled, began to reach for the strand of hair that was plastered to Jane's cheek but stopped herself, unsure for once of overstepping some boundary of intimacy.

"I'm sorry. You should have just woken me up or left me…I think I drooled on your shoulder," Jane winked and brushed at the spot apologetically.

Maura laughed, "It'll wash."

"My Ma used to do that…" Jane paused and noted the look of curiosity on Maura's face. "Run her fingers through my hair when I couldn't sleep. And sing to me too. It always did the trick."

"That must have been nice…" Maura's smile faded. "…to be loved like that." No one had ever asked about her family and she had never discussed it. As a child she didn't have any friends, if she thought about it…as an adult she didn't have any friends either. People came as patients. They respected her, thanked her, and appreciated what she did. But, they weren't her friends. Jane was the only person that had become like a friend, and even of the extent of that she was unsure…until Jane had stocked her empty kitchen. The gesture gave her hope, that maybe she wasn't so alone.

"I'm sure your mother did things like that," Jane responded, somewhat confused by Maura's comment.

She shook her head. "My biological mother died in a factory accident not long after I was born."

Sometimes Jane had to be reminded that other people had experienced loss as well. She did not have a monopoly on grief in the district. "Oh…" she said quietly.

"My mother wouldn't reveal who my father was. No one knew why. There was no other family. The factory foreman and his wife adopted me. They meant well. I don't mean to sound ungrateful…" Maura looked in Jane's eyes. Jane understood that look. Hurt. "They didn't really want children. They knew how to give me the necessities, but the emotional connection…like what you have with your mother…they didn't know how to give me that. And I didn't know how to ask for it."

"Like…what I _**had**_ with my mother," Jane offered.

It was his last year in the Reaping. Jane couldn't remember the Capitol escort's name, it had been that particular one's only year to serve District 8. Her hand grasped the handle of the rotary basket and turned, the slips of paper with all the names of the district's children tossing and turning, speaking in her strange and affected Capitol accent: _May the odds be ever in your favor_. The silence was deafening, the rustling of the paper could be heard throughout the city center. Angela squeezed Jane's hand so hard she was sure it would be broken when her mother let go. The escort's fingers were long and slender, accentuated by bejeweled fuchsia fingernails. She reached into the basket and rooted slowly, savoring the moment as she looked into the camera with a smile of genuine delight. That's how all the escorts looked who came to accompany the reaped tributes to the Capitol. If only they knew what it was like to be one of those names on a slip of paper. She held a life between those ridiculous nails.

_Frankie Rizzoli._

_No!_ Angela screamed and fell to her knees. _NO! Not again!_

_Ma…_ Jane tried to comfort her.

_Do something_. Angela's look hardened as she grabbed Jane's face. _Do something!_ _He's not like you. He won't make it. Do something!_

_I…_ The tears welled up in her eyes. _I can't, Ma._

Jane looked away from Maura as the recollection flooded her. Her mother had wanted her to take her brother's place and she had refused…and he died. The Capitol finally succeeded in taking absolutely everything from her.

She reached for Maura's hand and squeezed it, "So, we're both damaged."

* * *

><p>"You wanted to see me?" Jane trudged begrudgingly into Korsak's home. She knew what he wanted, what he was going to ask.<p>

"I was starting to think you were going to blow me off," he closed the door behind her, "beer?"

She declined. "Been a rough day." Her mentor and friend looked at her, assessed the circles under her eyes and the worse than usual droop in her posture...and he waited. "I had a waking flashback to the hospital…after the Games."

Korsak had witnessed one of her flashbacks before; he knew what that particular memory did to her. "I'm sorry. We can talk tomorrow…"

Jane waved him off, "No. Maura happened to show up, to thank me for something. She…helped me through it and I feel about as good as I could feel…considering. I already know what you're going to say, so you might as well just say it." She sunk into Korsak's sofa and waited.

It had actually been several years since last he'd asked. But, this year was different. Jane knew that. She also knew how difficult it must be for Korsak to mentor those tributes every year…alone. Cayden had long ago lapsed into senility that rendered him useless for any kind of meaningful interaction, much less real mentorship.

He sighed, "The Quarter Quell announcement is in three days."

"I know," she tried to remain unemotional. The 25th Games and first Quarter Quell had forced the districts to vote on their tributes. Those were Cayden's Games. Being sacrificed by your own people was enough to send anyone back more broken than any other year. The 50th Games and second Quarter Quell doubled the tributes to four from each district. Jane was nine that year and not yet eligible for the Reaping. The District 8 tributes faired poorly in those Games.

"The Quell will be even more taxing than a normal year…"

"There's nothing normal about the Games, Korsak," Jane spat out vehemently.

"You know what I mean." There was no easing into it. "Would you consider joining me as mentor this year?"

Jane slumped forward and buried her face in her hands.

"Jane," he moved to the sofa next to her, "not that I'm planning on kicking off anytime soon, but one day…there's a chance you'll be the district's only victor. The tributes need a mentor. They deserve anything we have to offer. It's our obligation to prepare them. To try and give them a chance…to give them hope."

They locked eyes and stared for interminable moments until Jane broke the stalemate. "How can you do it? How have you done it? All these years. How?"

Korsak grabbed her shoulder and squeezed it with all his might, "Because one year, I brought someone back with me."

Jane shook her head and pursed her lips, "Do you know how many nights in the past seventeen years that I've wished you hadn't?"

"And your mother would have lost three children…"

"Korsak…hasn't she though?"

"No." He grabbed her by both shoulders and turned her to face him. "No. She hasn't. Sometimes I see glimpses of the real Jane Rizzoli. I know she's in there. When the two of you quit punishing each other for the Capitol's sins, then you'll realize you never lost each other to begin with."

It wasn't fair: the extra burden Korsak bore. She knew the toil it took. It marked his body so visibly each year when he stepped off that empty train. Only the families and sometimes their close friends greeted him on the platform after the Games. They would want to know the last things their children said before being taken to the arena. They would want to know if Korsak had brought their bodies back. He never did. He couldn't. The Capitol didn't allow it. It was one of the things that angered her the most. They took Frankie away. They really took him away. She didn't even have a grave to visit.

It was raining that day. District 8 was particularly miserable when it rained: grey on top of grey on top of grey. Jane's shoes were soaked and mud was splattered halfway up the legs of her pants. She stood on the opposing end of the platform from her mother and father. Korsak stepped out of the passenger car and looked up at the sky, letting the rain drench him. When he looked down Angela was in front of him. She slapped him, over and over and then pounded her fists into his chest until she finally collapsed into his arms sobbing. He took the abuse and held her until she stilled. After agonizing minutes, Frank Sr. and Carla Talucci finally led her away.

He walked towards her, her tears apparent even in the driving rain.

_Forgive me._ Half statement, half question, Korsak's beleaguered eyes begged for relief from his failure.

Jane nodded as she embraced him.

"I never blamed you." Jane looked at her oldest friend. In the end the Games had at least given her that. "When you asked me that day to forgive you. I never blamed you to begin with."

"Will you ever forgive yourself?" Korsak asked.

"I've been trying to find a way to do that for fourteen years," Jane took a deep breath. "Would they have let me volunteer in his place?"

Korsak considered the question, "At your age…I honestly don't know."

Jane sighed as she nodded, "I'll mentor with you for the Quarter Quell."


	4. Even the Strong

**CH 4: Even the Strong**

Seventy-six years ago the thirteen districts of Panem revolted against the Capitol. When the thirteenth district was obliterated the remaining twelve had no choice but to resubmit to the Capitol's will. Every year the districts are reminded just how at the mercy of the Capitol they are when the annual Hunger Games is held, reaping two children from each district between the ages of twelve and eighteen.

The odds of being selected worsen each year as the slips of paper with the child's name accumulate, more being added if the child takes tessera and agrees to additional chances in exchange for a year's supply of grain and oil. The year she was reaped Jane Rizzoli had sixteen chances of being selected – six slips of paper for each of her regular years and two years' worth of taking tesserae for each member of her family. Two particularly cold winters had wreaked havoc on her father's arthritis. A maintenance man who can't use his hands isn't much of a maintenance man.

_There are girls with more slips._ It was the same thing her mother said every year. It was true. There were girls with more slips. Some in the district were much worse off than they were. Still, the words were of little comfort, they had all seen children reaped with only one or two slips in for the draw.

Jane fidgeted, moving around from foot to foot, bobbing her head and pulling at the ill-fitting dress. _Jane Rizzoli! Be still! _ Her mother chastised as she tried to do something presentable with her daughter's wild and unruly hair.

_I don't want to wear a dress._

Angela huffed. _All the girls wear dresses for the Reaping._

It seemed strange to Jane how everyone so blindly submitted to such trivial traditions.

Gaia Baldrick had been the District 8 escort going on six years. _They must be well fed in the Capitol_, Jane thought as Gaia sauntered to the podium. Each year it appeared as if she put on a few more pounds. She had blonde hair that she accentuated with varying colored ringlets that cascaded down past her shoulders. This year she had chosen complimentary blues and greens with sparse feathers woven throughout. The green strands matched perfectly the emerald suit bedecked with white lace and gold buttons that sparkled in the afternoon sun. All these years later and Jane could still remember every detail of what Gaia looked like that day. Her whitewash makeup and powder blue lips made her appear even more distant and unfeeling than in years past. She had new tattoos from the previous year, gold filigree that swirled from her temple down to her cheek.

Only sixteen. Only sixteen chances out of nearly a thousand.

_May the odds be ever in your favor!_ Gaia's sing-song declaration, the same one that would be ringing out across eleven other districts at the same exact moment preceded her hand diving into the sea of paper. _For the girls! Jane Rizzoli!_

The odds were never in her favor.

Sixteen slips of paper. She had always wondered which one it was: her yearly reaping slip or one of the tesserae. And if the tesserae, for whom? Was it the grain and oil staples she took for herself, or for one of her brothers, or for her mother and father? She would never know. The slips were all the same, brand new and reprinted each year of uniform size, shape and wear: in the interest of fairness, of course. Fairness. The very idea of it was grotesquely laughable. The Capitol didn't send its children to fight to the death every year and while by the letter of the law training one's children for the Games was not allowed, it was well known by their performances and their willingness to volunteer that the children of Districts 1, 2 and 4 did just that. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen and fifteen year olds sent into an arena to fight to the death with sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen year olds, some of them trained all of their lives to hunt and slaughter other children. The eighteen year-old tributes from some of the districts hardly resembled children at all when placed next to a twelve year-old. Where was the fairness in that?

And now, here she sat, in Korsak's living room, the seldom used television on and tuned to the Capitol's broadcast station as they awaited the Third Quarter Quell announcement. The Capitol seal fades and reveals a pedestal upon which sits a small box, which everyone knows contains the yellowed envelopes for an unknown number of Quarter Quells. A cheery announcer's voice plays over the feed and recounts the history of the Games, so familiar at this point there's not a person in Panem who can't recite the spiel by memory. The inclusion of the Quarter Quell has only been heard twice before. It is then that Jane really pays attention because she was so young when the second Quell was broadcast she doesn't remember its historical description. Caesar Flickerman, host of the Games saunters to the stage amidst roaring applause and tells of how the Capitol's victory over the rebellious and ungrateful districts includes that every twenty-five years of the Hunger Games there will be a Quarter Quell. The special twist for these special games planned out before the very first Hunger Games and contained in the box. He gestures dramatically at it…the consummate showman. The Quarter Quell is to serve as a special reminder of the debt owed by the districts to the Capitol.

Caesar yields the floor as President Hoyt walks onto the stage and it takes everything in Jane's power to contain the convulsions and acerbic taste rising up in her throat that make her want to vomit. He speaks. Jane closes her eyes and tries to will his slithery voice to fade into oblivion. A quiet falls on the screen as Hoyt opens the box and selects the envelope, which reads 75th Hunger Games. He holds it up to allow the camera to focus on the lettering before severing the envelope flap in one smooth swipe of his nail through the crease.

Tearing. That nail through weathered paper might as well have been a blade through flesh. That's what it felt like as the anticipation set in. Jane clasped her hands in front of her mouth and waited. An eerie silence settled with striking weight. No sound – not from her or Korsak, not from President Hoyt on the screen as he first read the card to himself.

He looked up, those soulless blue eyes staring directly into the camera. Jane crinkled her brow and shivered with the feeling that as ridiculous as it was, he was staring straight at her. A crooked and deviant smile spread across his lips as he recited from memory what he had just read:

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, to remind the rebels that no one is immune to the power of the Capitol – not the strongest among you, not those complacent in their daily lives – the tributes will be reaped: One from the district's existing pool of victors and one from an all gender and age inclusive pool of the district's citizens age twelve and higher."

Jane is running before Korsak can even scream her name, the door to his house slamming shut in her wake. Out of the Victor's Village, down the empty streets, vacant as everyone still sits inside their homes watching the mandatory viewing of the announcement, she runs to the projects through the quiet and suffocating dark.

* * *

><p>She didn't even think about where she was going. She didn't need to; her body just took her there. Her fists pound on the rusty metal door until all 6'1 and three hundred some-odd pounds of Clarence Pope finally open the door. Clarence is the doorman for this seedy underground establishment and Jane is a regular, so he steps aside without a word. They all know why she's there. Every face in the windowless shoddy basement boxing ring turns to stare at her as she walks in. Pete's there, dispensing booze because what bare-knuckle no-holds-barred underground fight club is complete without unholy and illegal spirits?<p>

The district drunk, Martina J. is there too, naturally. No one knows what her last name really is, mostly because Martina is so haggard and intoxicated all the time she can't pronounce it herself. She lets out a whooping cackle as Jane makes her way to the ring. "We'll have ourselves a fight tonight, boys!" She hollers.

Pete hands Jane a mug of something clear that reeks like the industrial cleaning fluids the factories use. Jane usually sticks to beer but tonight is different. He knows it and she knows it. She reaches in her pocket for money but he shakes his head and backs away. Jane throws the foul bathtub moonshine back in one fell swoop.

"A real good fight indeed!" Martina laughs out from behind rotten teeth as she slaps her leg and slams her own empty mug to the table.

"Cavanaugh!" Jane growls, waiting for the short, salt and pepper haired man to emerge from a back room flanked by other patrons. She'd never had any stomach for the back room of Sean Cavanaugh's – rooster and tomcat fights. It had been dogs before the Purge.

He walks up to her, looks her up and down and takes a sniff of the caustic odor caused by the remnants of Pete's white liquor that spills out on her breath as she exhales. Cavanaugh smiles, once word gets around to the usuals in the projects the basement will be bursting to the seams. It will be a good night for business. "Tape her up!"

* * *

><p>The rules are simple. The fighters declare the boundaries. The runner had done his job, Jane Rizzoli might be reaped for a second Games, everyone wanted to be in Cavanaugh's basement that evening. First, they'd bet on the rules: weapons or no weapons, strike limitations on the body, time limit etc. Then they'd bet on a winner. They would drink a lot and scream more.<p>

Jane stepped into the ring, stripped down to a tank top and a pair of shorts. Brad Carlisle stepped into the ring opposite her. She knew Brad; they were the same age. She'd seen Brad fight a few times; he was fast and hard as nails, and he preferred as few rules as possible. If Cavanaugh allowed fights to the death, there was no doubt Brad would be all in. Cavanaugh's selection of opponent had not been arbitrary.

"Rules?" Cavanaugh asked as he stepped into the center.

Brad smirked as he danced from foot to foot, "Our victor's choice."

"Standard round times, no limits, we go to knives in the tenth round if it lasts that long. The match ends on knockout or when someone can't physically get off the floor." Jane waited to see if the terms were agreeable. Brad's eye twinkled and he nodded his acceptance.

A whisper in the crowd grew into a boisterous din. Jane's prowess with a knife was well known. It had after all been her weapon of choice in the arena. She had never agreed to knives at Cavanaugh's before.

* * *

><p>Korsak shoved his way through the melee, many could accuse him of getting soft as he aged but when it came to Jane a fire was ignited within him. They had a bond no one else in the district could understand. He tossed drunk and shouting bodies from side to side as he bulled his way to the ring. "Let me through!" he finally bellowed as he climbed the short wooden wall that formed the perimeter.<p>

Jane sat on her knees in the middle of the ring, barely keeping upright as she lilted from side to side. Blood was everywhere. Korsak had unknowingly been taken to one of Cavanaugh's dogfights back in the day. The scene before him was strikingly reminiscent – bright crimson spatter and drag marks. Jane still held a buck knife in her hand as she sputtered bloody saliva and gasped for breath. Brad Carlisle was barely visible for the ring of men squatting and kneeling around him.

"Jane," Korsak squeezed and shook her wrist until she released her grip on the knife and let it clatter to the floor. "Okay," he brushed the loose hair that was plastered in blood and sweat back from her face. "You're okay."

"Is he dead?" Jane choked out, on the verge of tears and horrified.

Korsak looked up at Cavanaugh.

"He's pretty fucked up, but he's alive." Cavanaugh answered.

"Sean, do you have an apothecary you can get him to?" Korsak waited as Cavanaugh whispered to some of his associates.

"We've sent for Miriam Faust."

Korsak nodded, "Then lend me Clarence to get her to the seamstress."

* * *

><p>"Oh!" Maura gasped, clasping her hand to her mouth as Korsak took Jane from Clarence's arms and pushed past her into the apartment. She had patched Jane up after many a boxing match…but nothing like this. It was carnage.<p>

Korsak eased Jane onto the table in the hidden room, "What can I do to help?"

Maura flitted around the room, the usually composed woman grabbing frantically at supplies, her heart pounding in her chest, "That basin over there, fill it with water."

"I thought…" Jane groaned softly, the only eye she could open struggling to focus on Maura as tender hands settled on her face and held her head still. "I thought maybe I would die…so I don't have to go."

"Shhh," Maura cooed as she dipped a washcloth in the basin of water Korsak held out for her. Jane's eyes fluttered as the cool cloth swiped back and forth across her skin. "Just let go," Maura whispered as Jane succumbed to the pain, stress and exhaustion and drifted into unconsciousness. "I've got you."

* * *

><p>Korsak sat in the corner of the room, hands locked and white knuckled, hanging between his knees for what seemed like endless hours as Maura washed, treated and stitched Jane's body back into some semblance of human form. When she was done she bandaged the primary gash in Jane's side, the minor cuts on her arms and hands and slipped her into a spare pair of sleep clothes.<p>

Maura paused at Jane's side and lifted one of her hands and covered it in both of her own. She pressed her thumb to the now familiar scar, "She can't go back." Her voice quivered and broke as she said it.

Korsak's hands were strong and reassuring on her shoulders, "She won't. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure of that."

Maura turned her head and caught his eye. They had been blue once but had grayed and dulled over the years. Every line in his face seemed more prominent than ever before, red swollen bags had formed under his eyes. He had aged: maybe more in the past few hours than in the past twenty years. Maura sniffled, wiping at the tears that seeped out. _I'll do whatever it takes to makes sure of that._ It could only mean one thing. If Jane's name was called…Vince Korsak would volunteer in her place.

"Let her stay here tonight." It was half question, half statement. Maura's eyes pleaded and Vince nodded; scooping Jane into his arms he carried her to the seamstress's bed.

They stood in the doorway, Korsak just on the hallway side of the threshold. "Hey," he reached for Maura's chin and lifted it.

"You would do that for her?" Maura's lip trembled as she asked it, his words still powerful and stark in her mind. There were good people in the world.

"She's paid enough for sins that aren't hers. She deserves a life. She deserves…to know that there's more this world can give her than pain and suffering. That there can be happiness…that there can be…love." He stared deeply into her eyes with those last words, his gaze not faltering, not blinking. Maura nodded solemnly and his hand slipped away as he made his way down the hall.

* * *

><p>"Ow…" Jane croaked under her breath as she came to. The room was flooded with the light of early dawn and her eyes struggled to adjust, finally succeeding only to be met with unfamiliar surroundings. She froze, looked up at the white ceiling overhead and then towards the wall on her left that was adorned with drawings and sketches and two wooden dressers. Her eyes continued to roam until her head turned fully to the right and spied the petite form of Maura Isles next to her, curled up in a ball, sleeping on her side with her back to Jane.<p>

_Maura_. Jane blinked several times to make sure it wasn't an illusion. It wasn't. Her mouth was dry and she cleared her throat but Maura didn't stir. Laboriously, Jane poured every ounce of energy she had to fight the pain and roll onto her side facing her caregiver. It was then that she noticed them. The scars. Clawing out from under Maura's tank that had hiked up in her sleep. Dozens of gnarled and angry scars…the telltale pattern of a Peacekeeper's bullwhip.

The sight made her burn with rage. _What could she have done? What could Maura Isles have possibly ever done to anyone or anything to warrant such a punishment?_ She reached for the exposed skin of the woman's back and fingered the lash scars. Lightly at first, she took care not to wake her. But the sensation of the raised and rough skin under her fingertips made the scars in her palms ache and she pressed her whole hand to Maura's back and caressed the skin all the way up her back and then down.

Maura's eyes flashed open and she sat up with a start, "Jane?" she asked as she looked over her shoulder and tugged at the hem of her top to pull it down.

"What happened to you?" Jane asked in a strained and gravelly voice.

"It's nothing," Maura turned to face her and began checking her injuries from the previous night.

"It damn sure is something!" Jane exclaimed. "Those look like whipping scars."

Maura nodded, "It was a long time ago."

Jane's eyes were unrelenting in their demand for an answer.

"Fourteen years ago…" Maura began.

Maura hated the Games; they were particularly appalling to her as the epitome of everything she stood against. She wanted to save lives not watch them be brutally and sadistically torn from the world. But, she watched because they were required to. When the broadcast ended that night she had to get out of the apartment. Someone like her wasn't really privy to inside knowledge about a place like Cavanaugh's or where to go for bootlegged liquor, but sometimes patients in the throes of pain or worse talked about things and she locked those little mentions away on the off chance…on the off chance that a night like this one arose. That's how she found herself in the projects after a particularly heart-wrenching Games broadcast, hoping to find one of the secret bars she'd heard mentioned, hoping to get her hands on something that would dull the pain.

The commotion came out of nowhere and her feet carried her to the source. A crowd of shocked people stood assembled by a lamppost. Some shouted, some pleaded with the Peacekeeper whose back was all she could see. A slurred and drunken but familiar voice argued with the white-clad enforcer until he bested the lithe woman, subduing her and cuffing her to the post.

The crowd pleaded more for the peacekeeper to be lenient given the circumstances, but none made a move to physically intercede. In recollection so much seemed a blur. One minute she was across the street, watching the Peacekeeper raise his whip in the air. The next, she had flung herself across the woman's back, wrapped her arms in a vice around the sobbing and shaking body as she offered her own back to the Peacekeeper's whip. The body in her embrace jerked in sympathy with the sound of each crack she absorbed as the broken voice sobbed _Frankie…Frankie…Frankie_ into her arm.

Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, the bite of the whip stopped abruptly. The Peacekeeper howled in pain as a harsh blow landed across his temple with a crunching thud. The crowd scattered. Grey concrete ground turned into black, starlit sky. Arms hoisted her up and cradled her. _No…Jane._ She didn't want to leave her there. The voice that answered, telling her that Jane was fine jarred her completely back into reality. Her head lolled to the side and she looked up…into the eyes of Head Peacekeeper Patrick Doyle.

Jane stared back at her, mouth agape. Maura had used no names in the retelling but suddenly the foggy and blocked memory flooded back with striking clarity. Running from her mother's house. Drowning the sorrow and the pain in any and every beverage someone passed her way. Stumbling about the streets sobbing and drunk until she came face to face with Peacekeeper Crowe. She never saw who it was, she only felt the weight of the body on top of her and the strangled cries each time the whip cracked and the lack of pain searing and ripping her own skin.

"You…" Jane finally managed. All of a sudden everything was overwhelming. _Run. Run away_. She struggled to her feet, reeling in pained agony as she tried to escape.

"Don't!" Maura nearly yelled as she vaulted to her feet and blocked the door. Quieter, "Please, don't go."

Jane stopped in front of her, swaying and fighting with all her might to stay standing, "Why? Why'd you do it?" She wiped at hot tears that burned with weakness down her face.

Maura stepped towards her, steadying Jane and leading her back to the bed. Jane sat and looked up into apologetic hazel eyes. "Because you had been hurt enough."

Jane eased down to the bed and closed her eyes with a cleansing sigh. She felt the other side of the bed dip as the covers were pulled over her. "No one's ever protected me before." She turned her head to see that Maura had assumed the same position as when she first awoke, back to her, curled up in a ball on her side.

"You protected me once." Maura's voice was soft and the words curious.

It took a moment of contemplation before that seemingly inconsequential day in the cafeteria popped into her mind. The other kids laughing, Maura picking at her splattered lunch on the floor, the whispers of what they would do to her next. They didn't pick on Maura anymore after that day.

Jane gritted her teeth and again rolled herself onto her side so she could scoot in closer to the body next to her. She snaked her hand under Maura's top and again caressed the puffy scars. Skin and muscle relaxed under her touch. This time, her own scars didn't ache. Jane rested her forehead against the soft hair that covered the back of Maura's neck. "Seems like we've been taking care of each other for a long time."

Maura wiped the solitary tear that trickled down the bridge of her nose as she smiled, "So it would seem."


	5. Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note: **Well, two updates in one week! I hope I'm not spoiling you all! CAUTIONARY WARNING: Rape mention.

**CH 5: Best Laid Plans**

Jane stared out of the tiny window behind her sofa in the living room of her apartment. A boom of thunder sounded on a distant cloud. District 8 was even more drab than usual. An ominous pressure in the air held the factory smoke in a choking blanket over the city. Even if the belching fumes from the chimneys had anywhere to go the sky would still be painted charcoal with the impending rain. Midday and no one was on the streets. It was the one part of a day like today that always triggered the most distinct feelings of anxiety. The streets should be teeming with people going about their usual activities: factory shifts changing out and errands being run. There weren't even any Peacekeepers patrolling the projects. Of course they weren't. They were all in the city center outside the Justice Building.

Reaping day. Her 35th, though of course she couldn't remember them all...the earliest ones anyway. Jane reflected on her first clear memory. It was hard to conceive of that past naïveté. But, then, she was only a child.

There was no early morning wakeup from her mother even though it was a school day. Her own restlessness and the growing visual discomfort from an unusually bright sun served as an alarm.

_Don't I have school today?_ She stood in the doorway to the small kitchen, watched as her pregnant mother battled a fussy Frankie trying to entice him to eat a tasteless gruel that she remembered all too well all those years later.

_No Janie, not today._

She walked to the table, pulled a seat up to Frankie's high chair and gently took the spoon from her mother and precociously lifted her four year-old eyebrows as she stared at her baby brother. He quieted and opened his mouth willingly as she offered him the spoon.

_Why?_

_It's Reaping day, baby._

Her father hoisted her up on his shoulders. It was a clear vantage point to scan the sea of people. All the adult and young children of District 8 filed in solemnly and lined up in a horseshoe pattern around the square. In the center the children ages 12-18 were herded by Peacekeepers into groups differentiated by age. When the drawing began her father's hands tightened on her legs. She'd never seen so many people in one place so quiet. The sound of silence would always strike a poignant fear in the depths of her chest.

Thirty years later she couldn't remember the name of the girl reaped that year, but the next moment remained burned into her memory. The escort reached into the collection of slips that held the boys' names:

_Gino Talluci._

Carla Talluci was mere feet to her left. She screamed and collapsed to the ground in her husband's arms as Angela passed Frankie to her father and tried to help comfort her. Jane would never forget the look on Rob Talluci's face; shock rendered him frozen as a solitary tear carved its way noticeably down his cheek. Gino was sixteen. He died in the blood bath at the Cornucopia in the first five minutes of the Games. In retrospect she wondered if Carla was ever thankful for that…being spared days, maybe even a week or more of waiting for the inevitable. Death was always assumed to be inevitable for a District 8 tribute. Only three times in seventy-four years had it not been.

It was on that day that Jane first understood what the Reaping meant.

There was a soft knock on the door. "It's open," Jane called out from her perch on the sofa, still staring at the projects devoid of activity.

Maura entered quietly and unassuming. She set a bag down on the table and gingerly took her place on the sofa next to Jane and joined her looking out the window. "It's this that I always found most frightening as a child…the calm before the storm so to speak."

Jane nodded, "Me too. I was thinking about the first Reaping I actually remember. It was the Games my mother's best friend, Carla Talluci's son was reaped."

"Gino," Maura added somberly.

"I can't remember who the girl was though," Jane turned to look at Maura.

"Margaret…Margaret Massey. I think she went by Maggie."

"You remember that?" Jane asked.

Maura tore her eyes away from the barren streets and looked at Jane, "I remember all of their names; even the ones from before we were born. Someone should, don't you think?"

Palms up, Jane extended her hands and held them out as Maura ran her fingers from the middle of the underside of Jane's forearms, down over her wrists until their fingers clasped together.

"The only person that knows about these scars…is Korsak." For once, brown eyes didn't well up with tears as she mentioned them. Maura stared into her eyes…into a striking sincerity of revelation she'd never seen before. "You're the only person I've ever wanted to tell. But, I…" Jane paused, looking down at their locked hands. "I've never wanted to burden you with my self-loathing and my hatred…for him."

_For him?_ Maura cocked her head. "Nothing about you is a burden to me."

The lump in her throat wouldn't go down, it had to come out…it needed to. "Everyone thinks the victor has it made. That…once you win…once you get out of the arena you're safe. That's not how it works. President Hoyt has to make sure that we know that even in this supposed thing called victory, the true victor is him…the Capitol. He attacked me in the hospital after the Games…raped me. He gave me these as a lasting reminder. _Defiance will not be tolerated_, he said."

Maura's grip tightened on Jane's hands. Her jaw clenched and tears began to streak down her face.

"Hey," Jane pulled her hands free and wiped at the angry and sympathetic tributaries, "It's not yours to cry about, ok? But, it's why I've never been back. It's why, now…I can't…why I fought Brad Carlisle like I did three weeks ago."

"You won't. It won't be you," Maura wrapped her fingers around Jane's wrists and pulled one of her hands to her mouth and placed a soft kiss to the scarred palm.

"There's only three of us to draw from, Maura."

Maura shook her head, "It won't be you."

"Do you have enough faith for the both us?" Jane managed a small and barely perceptible smile before sighing as she pulled her hands away.

"Yes," Maura answered resolutely, giving Jane pause.

"Three weeks since the announcement," Jane moved to change the subject, "Time flies."

"Actually, time moves in quite regular and predicted patterns…"

Jane chuckled and cut her off. A laugh was rare these days and caught Maura by surprise. They had spent nearly every day for the past three weeks together. At first so Maura could tend and monitor Jane's fight injuries. But then, Jane started coming around just to watch Maura sew and fill orders. They would chat, share a small lunch or dinner and then part ways for the night. It had taken a few days of walls and barriers coming down and Jane finally understood perhaps why children had been so mean to Maura growing up. She was smart…actually…brilliant. It was like she remembered everything she had ever read or been told. To some it might be intimidating, to Jane it was endearing.

The time was drawing near, they both rose saddled with the weight of the unknown. "I…brought you something. To wear." Maura reached into her bag and produced a pair of brown tweed trousers. Flecks of cream and burgundy ran through the herringbone pattern. In her other hand she held a silk-blend v-neck top. "I made them for you, some time ago, I guessed your size…you have such an exquisite body type that I don't often get to design for and…" Maura paused, embarrassed by the seemingly endless spillage of words that came tumbling out. "I never could decide when to give them to you, but today…"

"Seems like as good a day as any?" Jane finished the sentence for her and took the items. She stripped right there in her living room. What did it matter? Maura had already seen her naked, granted she was beaten to a bloody pulp that night but nonetheless. "They fit perfectly. Thank you."

"And this," Maura next pulled an oxblood leather jacket from the bag.

"Maura, how did you…" Leather of sufficient quality and quantity for a jacket so expertly crafted and luxuriously soft would have cost the seamstress dearly. "You shouldn't have, not for me."

Caramel brunette locks, silky and curled bounced as Maura shook her head, "I wanted to." With Jane dressed, Maura looked towards the door, "We should go."

Hands clasped and twisting with nerves, Jane's feet didn't move. "Maura. There's just one thing. If it's me…"

"Jane…"

"Just, let me." Jane walked to a wooden box on a small set of shelves in the corner. "If it's my name. I don't have much and Ma will come pack it up, but there's something I've held onto for a long time and I'd…like for you to have it. If…you know." Jane pulled an old photo from the box. The young girl in the photo was clearly her, the boy in her lap clutching some kind of toy robot creature so unmistakably Frankie. "I was twelve. Frankie was nine," Jane chuckled as she pointed to the toy her brother clutched to his chest. "Guardian Chogokin. Cayden Crawford made it for him. It was his favorite toy. I can't for the life of me remember where he came up with that name. I wish I knew what happened to it."

Maura reached out and ran her finger over the young Jane's face.

Jane slipped the photo back into the box and closed it. "There were never a lot of photos taken of us, but of the few there are, this one has always been my favorite. I want you to have it…if…"

"Thank you," Maura linked her arm with Jane's and gently urged her towards the door, secure in the knowledge that she wouldn't have to claim that photo.

* * *

><p>In the city center Jane and Maura were forced to part ways. Head Peacekeeper Patrick Doyle approached her, "Rizzoli." His voice sounded almost sympathetic; his eyes seemed softer than she'd ever noticed. He motioned towards a small corral roped off in velvet with three seats; Cayden was already there, Korsak just making his way by escort of Peacekeeper Mulligan. "They want you there."<p>

Jane nodded, stiffening slightly as his hand fell with unexpected gentleness to the middle of her back as he guided her to the holding area.

"How ya holding up?" Korsak asked as Jane entered the waiting area.

"I've had better days," Jane peered around Korsak where Cayden sat silently in his own world, whittling away at a piece of wood that slowly began to take the shape of some kind of fish. They both shook their heads. It was terrible to think it. Jane knew it was, but she couldn't quell the deepest desire that the slip of paper pulled from the three would have Cayden's name written across it.

Korsak's hand rubbed reassuringly across her shoulders, "I know."

District 8's current escort, Effie Trinket, only two years under assignment sashayed to the podium. "Happy Hunger Games!" She nearly giggled with delight. "And a very special year! This! The 75th Games and Third Quarter Quell!" Effie clapped her hands and cued the Capitol's propaganda film to play on the large projector screens on either side of the stage.

When the film concluded Jane leaned into Korsak, "You'd think on such a special occasion they could have popped for a new film, instead of this same old crap. Is this the same film from when you were a kid?"

Korsak chuckled under his breath, "I think it might be." He winked at her, the bit of levity helped ease the moment he knew was coming: that there was a two-thirds chance he was going back into the arena, either at the call of his own name, or the call of Jane's. They both watched as Effie took tiny stilted steps on too-tall heels to the Reaping vessels. One was barren save for three tiny slips of white paper. The other was bursting to the brim with the names of everyone else in the district over the age of twelve. Korsak leaned into Jane, "Is it me, or do the escorts get more outlandish each year? I mean, what is that on her head?"

Jane snorted, "They definitely get more outlandish."

Effie recited the announcement from the Quarter Quell card. "Let's begin," she waved her hand back and forth over the mouths of both vessels. That nearly unbearable silence rolled over the crowd, Jane and Korsak reached for each other's hands simultaneously. "Here!" Effie's hand plunged into the full bowl and rooted around. It finally emerged, one solitary white slip held delicately between long, dainty fingers.

"Maura Isles!"

_No. NO!_ In three weeks, it had never occurred to her. Not with the obscene number of names that would be in the general pot, that there was more than the most remote and unfathomable probability that Maura's name would be pulled. Jane's head jerked to the right where she had been forced to part with her friend, the only thing keeping her in place Korsak's grip that tightened and anchored her. The crowd parted and there she was in that turquoise dress and those heels Jane had on many occasions over the past weeks teased her about.

She walked slowly and deliberately to the rope until she came face to face with Patrick Doyle. Her body trembled and her mouth hung open and the only person in whom solace would be found was corralled an untouchable distance away. Tears were already clawing their way out.

Doyle's hand closed around her arm as another Peacekeeper unclipped the rope and pulled it away. He leaned into her ear, "Don't you dare cry. It's your first impression. Every other tribute will see this."

Maura reached quickly to her face and wiped the tears away as she gulped down a deep breath. She was certain she stumbled an uncountable number of times on the way to the stage, but each time she faltered she felt Doyle's grip brace her and hide the slip.

"Wonderful!" Effie threw her hand to her chest dramatically. "And now, for our victors…"

Jane wanted to scream. She wanted to yell _No!_ as loud as her lungs could yell it. She wanted to curse the Capitol and damn them all. In her mind she would run up on that stage, grab Maura into her arms and bring all hell, fire and brimstone down on Effie Trinket, on the Peacekeepers and by proxy on President Hoyt himself. Instead, she stood there, eyes fixed on Maura up on that stage.

Effie made quite the show of shuffling the three slips around until she finally pulled one and read its name, "Vincent Kors…"

"I VOLUNTEER!" Jane threw the velvet rope and its brass stands aside and forged ten feet ahead into the halting hands of two Peacekeepers. "I volunteer as tribute!"

"Jane!" Korsak bellowed, following her.

She raised her hand to silence him, her eyes staring defiant holes into Effie Trinket, knowing that all the way across Panem, Hoyt would be looking into the broadcast of her eyes and know that all of her contempt was meant for him. Her gaze moved to Maura and eased, "I volunteer," she said again, softly.

"Jane Rizzoli, I presume!" Effie squealed. "District 8, your FIRST volunteer! A special Games indeed!"

Jane reached for Maura's hand, enclosing it in a vice as the Peacekeepers led them into the Justice Building. She closed her eyes for a flicker of a moment as she broke the threshold and in her mind's eye she was seventeen again. Only, the faintest sliver of hope that held on for dear life then, was gone. She knew she wouldn't leave the arena this time, for her own victory would necessarily mean Maura's death.

Patrick Doyle pulled Jane to the left as Peacekeeper Mulligan pulled Maura to the right.

"Jane!" Maura cried out.

Jane easily wrenched her arm free of Doyle and cupped Maura's face in her hands, "They're going to take you to a room where your parents will come say goodbye. When that's done, they'll bring you back here. I'll be here. Ok?" Maura nodded and reluctantly let herself be pulled away.

* * *

><p>"Have you lost your mind!" Korsak stormed into the Justice Building meeting room where Jane was sequestered. His face was crimson and he clawed recklessly at his tie, tearing at the knot frantically until he loosed it and tossed it to the floor.<p>

Jane held her breath for a second before turning around to face her mentor and friend, "I can't live without her."

Korsak's mouth dropped and he stammered trying to think of something to say.

"I can't…_**live**_…without her," Jane repeated more slowly and with emphasis. "Someone has to protect her."

"I could have done that," he didn't even believe it himself when he said it and he knew Jane didn't either.

"You know I love you old man, but…" Jane ran her eyes down the length of Korsak's aged and out of shape body, "…you and I both know, that between the two of us," it slipped out, trite and overused but a perfect representation of the facts before them, "the odds are in my favor."

Korsak's face drained of color, "But, Jane, you can't both win."

"Don't you see, Korsak?" Jane paused, "Whether I go to the arena, or stay here…I die. At least this way…maybe she lives."

They both turned as the door slowly creaked open and Angela Rizzoli stepped into the room. Korsak nodded, first to Jane and then to Angela as he solemnly exited.

"Hey, Ma."

Jane gasped as her mother pulled her into a ferocious embrace. "I'm sorry," Angela sobbed. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault…I…I made you think Frankie was your fault and now…"

"Ma!" Jane struggled free of her mother's surprisingly strong hug, "Listen to me, Ma! This is not your fault. And it has nothing to do with Frankie. It's…she's…she's special, Ma. And she doesn't deserve this, and this is about me, and what I can live with. I didn't know it until the minute I volunteered, but then it was so clear. This is the only way I can live with myself, for as short as that may be, it's the only way."

"I love you, Janie. You know that? All these years, I never stopped." Angela looked over her shoulder as Patrick Doyle entered, the sign that her time was up and that she had to go.

"I know, Ma. I love you too."

The door shut and Jane shuddered as it struck her that that was the last time she would see her mother. "Is it time?"

"Not quite yet," Doyle walked to a sitting area and motioned for Jane to take a seat on the plush royal blue sofa; he pulled a high backed chair up and sat right in front of her. "I was in love once."

Jane arched an eyebrow at the unexpected statement.

"I loved her more than anything. But, she was a District 8 citizen and as you know Peacekeepers are forbidden from fraternizing with their district charges. We carried on in secret so that no one in the district would know, but behind the scenes I tried everything to get the Capitol to transfer me and to let me take her with me." Doyle reached down the front of his uniform and produced a simple gold band on a chain. He removed it and dangled it in the air before letting it rest in the palm of his hand. "I was going to ask her to marry me. All I needed was the approval from the Capitol…the transfer orders. They denied my request. She got pregnant and still they denied my request. I carried this with me, every day hoping that would be the day they would relent and that Hope and I and our daughter could really be a family."

_Hope_. Jane's eyes widened at the mention of the once-spoken name.

"She died in the great factory fire thirty three years ago. I know that fire was not an accident, how could it be? One death. Her death. The Capitol took the love of my life away and they denied me my daughter. I know how I used to look at Hope when she was alive. And I know how you looked when you volunteered to take Korsak's place." Doyle reached for Jane's hand and let the ring stand on end in her palm as he gripped the chain, "Fight to get my daughter home?"

Jane clenched her jaw and nodded, "To my last breath."

Doyle released the chain and watched the metal pool in the scarred palm, "Take this. As your token for the arena."

* * *

><p>With eyes closed Jane stood in front of the meeting room door. She had been in that exact place before, seventeen years earlier. Déjà vu. <em>Ready?<em> Patrick Doyle asked. Jane began to shake with tears as she pulled nervously at the hideous floral print dress her mother had forced her to wear. _You listen to me, kid._ Doyle's hand was gruff on her young arm as he turned her to face him. _That platform is going to be crawling with cameras. The weak are targeted first. Remember this, the Games have already started._

That was then.

"Ready?" Doyle asked, his hand on the doorknob.

Jane opened her eyes; stone-faced she nodded, "Yes."

Maura was already standing in the great hall. She tried to run towards Jane but Peacekeeper Mulligan restrained her until Doyle waved him off. The tap of her heels on the marble floor carried her with surprising speed into Jane's arms. Her body trembled, wracked with sobs as Jane enveloped her. "Why?" She choked out. "Why did you do it?"

"Shhh, listen to me," Jane lifted her chin and wiped feverishly at the abundant tears, "There are going to be dozens of cameras on that train platform, broadcasting us to all of Panem. Tears are weakness. The weak are targeted first. Cry on the train…not now. I'm here. I'm here with you. I'm going to get you through this. Remember this, the Games have already started."


	6. Epiphanies

**Author's Note: **This chapter is rated M. Due to upcoming graphic chapters I will move the story to the Rated M section shortly so please be aware.

**CH 6: Epiphanies**

Bile burned, enflaming her throat and nasal cavity as the uncontrollable retching made her prisoner in the small train suite lavatory. Her elbows were growing numb from holding her torso over the toilet as her hands obsessively checked over and over to make sure she had all of her hair swept back. Throwing up out of pure, unadulterated fear and panic was undignified enough without having vomit in your hair afterwards. A momentary reprieve, she grimaced as she peeled thinly covered bones from their porcelain brace. Her arms ached, her chest seized in pain, her stomach contorted…she threw up again.

Seventeen years ago fear of the unknown had propelled her down the hallway of the sleep car, through the room assigned to her and into the bathroom. It needed to be a small space – somewhere finite and enclosed, no windows. The world was too big, too disorienting. She thought she would throw up then, still a teenager, as she fell to her knees and stared down into the tranquil water in the ivory toilet. But, she didn't. Instead, a hot rage roared through her and when the blackout from her emotional catharsis was complete her voice was raw from screaming, her face hot and swollen from crying and the floral dress her mother had picked out lay in tatters on the floor as her skin ached from the damage done by her own claw marks.

It was different this time.

There was no unknown. Jane knew exactly what lay at the end of the two-day train ride: carnage.

She hated throwing up. Jane sputtered and tried to spit the last remnants of the taste out. She closed her eyes and shuddered as she blew her nose into the toilet. The bile had gone everywhere. It was a worse pain than after Cavanaugh's fights. The violent retching originated in the pit of her stomach and tore its way through her viscera. It hurt in places no fist or kick could reach. The sensation was as close to feeling turned inside out as one could imagine.

Jane turned and crawled the few steps to the sink, planting her hands on the sparkling basin and pulling herself to her feet. "Don't even…" she muttered as she actively avoided the mirror, turning on the faucet instead and submerging her face in the shockingly cold water that pooled in her hands. First her fingers separated letting the water run between them, then slowly her palms fell away and she watched the liquid circle the drain and slip into the unknown. She wanted to be that water…wash away into the abyss. She didn't have that luxury.

Her hand planted itself squarely in the middle of the mirror and Jane finally looked up into her water droplet-mottled reflection. "Everything's exactly the same as it was before and yet it's entirely different."

It was nearly impossible to reconcile that revelation. The fear of death, it was so beautifully human and even though she'd wished for it many times, even though she'd taken risks she thought might bring it, here it was again filling her with horrific dread. Maura would wax philosophic about the biological predisposition to survive encoded into every species for its propagation. But, Jane knew that animals didn't fear death like a human being, they didn't fear death for the reasons that she did.

On Reaping day seventeen years ago she had stared into the bathroom mirror, maybe even the very same one she was staring into now. She had told herself she would do everything to survive. _Everything_. The underlying fear was exactly the same now as it was then: not to let the Capitol dictate her death. Everyone dies. That was easy enough to accept. She saw death all the time, in the district…in the indelible red stains that permanently marked her hands. If she looked hard enough she could see the blood of the other tributes on her skin, fresh, still wet. It wasn't about dying per se. If death had come in the underground boxing ring at Cavanaugh's three weeks ago she wouldn't have wasted a breath wishing for anything different because at least it had been on her own terms.

And there it was: the true fear was not of death itself but of the cause. She didn't want her death to be another highlight on the Capitol's reel of sadistic oppression.

The fear and the feelings were identical to everything she had experienced before; she would do anything and everything to survive again. Yet, the circumstances were a cruel alteration to what she had been forced into previously. _Everything and anything. To a point._ This time, she wasn't alone, her survival was but a means to a certain an end: an end that when it came to it meant the ultimate sacrifice.

Jane wiped her hand across the slick glass, "No one has ever sacrificed themself for another tribute." She had to say it aloud, as if it was the only way to convince herself of its truth. "It doesn't mean he wins." She took a deep breath and steeled her jaw. "This time, you have to die. You die…your terms…you win. They can enslave us, they can torture us, they can watch us kill each other for sport. We're better than they are. You will rock their foundation to its core." The words stirred an energizing pulse deep in her chest that radiated throughout her body. It would be her one final act of defiance.

* * *

><p>"It's just magnificent! Isn't it just magnificent!" Effie effused over the brimming dinner table in her foreign Capitol accent.<p>

Maura watched her serve her plate and hum in delight with each heaping spoonful she added. Her face was caked with pale makeup accented with bright magenta lipstick and eyeshadow. The bouffant pink hair and oversized magenta flower planted directly over her forehead though, were the most strikingly odd of all. The clothing, while outlandish was of no shock to her, she sewed equally ridiculous outfits for clients in the Capitol all the time. Magenta from head to toe. It reminded her of the note attached to an order from one of her frequent clients: _monochrome is all the rage this season! _And she'd been a part of it – their lifestyle. The very outfit their escort wore to accompany them to near certain death she could have sewn with her own hands. Somewhere out there two other tributes could be staring at their escort wearing one of her designs. If only she had known. It sickened her – awakening to the possibility that she too had played some role in this circus of injustice.

Effie finally sat at the head of the table and rolled her eyes in pleasure as she took a bite of some kind of stew, "They've just absolutely gone all out for the Quarter Quell!"

It was disgusting. She ate as if completely oblivious to her role in the horror. "How can you eat?" Maura spat as she began to tremble, the fear that had initially paralyzed her and clawed its way out as tears now transformed into anger and disdainfully simmered to the surface.

Effie swallowed slowly and looked from Korsak to Maura, "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"You're a murderer," Maura found her voice and her volume grew. "You willingly service the Capitol for these Games," she grabbed the carving knife from the platter that held a large bird roasted to delectable perfection and presented the grip to Effie, "Take it. Why don't you just kill me? That's what you want, isn't it? To see me die."

Initial shock melded into confusion, Effie looked down at the blade and then up at Maura, "My dear! You just have no understanding of an escort's job! It is my deepest desire to see you live!"

"At the expense of everyone else that I am supposed to kill in order to do so!" Maura held Effie's gaze, "Why? For the accolades and reward of being the victor's escort? Just because you can't stick the blade into our bodies yourself doesn't make you any less of a murderer."

Maura gasped as the knife was yanked suddenly from her hand and plunged into the table between them.

"That is Mahogany!" Effie bellowed as she looked reproachfully up at Jane. Her most sincere emotional display yet and it was over the scar given to a table.

"No one's dying today," Jane pulled her chair down the length of the table as close to Maura as possible and sat as she took her friend's plate and began serving it.

"I can't," Maura protested. "I'm not hungry."

There was no response, only the sound of Jane adding more food to the plate until she set it down on Maura's placemat and began to serve her own. Korsak watched, mouth agape. They had been here before, sitting across a dinner table piled high with every mouth-watering delicacy the Capitol had to offer. _You need to eat_. He watched as rebellious eyes dared him to press again. She never broke his gaze as one hand reached out and dug into an offering in the breadbasket. Focaccia. Like what her mother would make when she could afford the ingredients. _I'm not eating __**their**__ food. _

She had eventually relented, but only to a degree – only plain food that looked like it could have come from District 8. She wouldn't touch any of the Capitol's more extravagant offerings. When Jane had her epiphany that she would in fact need real sustenance in order to make it out of the arena, Korsak knew that for the first time he might bring someone home. He could see it in her eyes then and that same spark of insolent determination had welled up behind her eyes in the Justice Building earlier that afternoon. _I can't live without her._ Korsak again felt that same cautious twinge of hope he'd felt stir seventeen years ago. It was a heavy feeling this time though, a feeling laden with sadness because he knew it wouldn't be Jane that he brought home, if anyone at all.

Jane looked at her plate and then picked up her cutlery and began to eat. Effie, seemingly recovered from the affront caused by the wounding of the table, nonchalantly resumed her meal as well. Korsak paused and watched Maura watch Jane. Maura's jaw clenched and the muscles in her arms tightened as she fidgeted with the napkin in her lap.

After several mouthfuls Jane set down her fork and wiped her mouth before looking at Maura, "I'll carry your half-starved body through that godforsaken arena if I have to but it would be a lot easier on me if you were strong enough to walk on your own."

Maura's mouth dropped. Jane's tone was frank and stark; it was a Jane she had never seen before. She sounded devoid of emotion, almost completely unfeeling as the words came out and that was when it really dawned on her: the realization finally breaking through the disconcerting melee of Reaping day. Jane had volunteered in order to protect her. The words were actually imbued with a meaning too grave for Maura to even consider. Self-sacrifice. "Life isn't given to us," Maura whispered as she pulled her eyes from Jane's and again regarded the plate of food.

"We have to fight for it," Jane added, lifting Maura's pristinely polished fork from the table and handing it to her.

Effie smiled and wiggled her shoulders, "There now! Isn't it just delicious!"

* * *

><p>Jane slipped into the familiar Capitol-issue pajamas: long white pants and a t-shirt. She messed with her hair, pulling it back into a loose ponytail before changing her mind and shaking it free again. It didn't matter. None of the Capitol's trappings mattered because when she looked into Maura's eyes she knew the artificiality of the surroundings they were forced into would just melt away. Jane had figured it out, what Maura did for her: she made the rest of the terrible world they lived in disappear and in the wake of that vanishing act there was only the comfort and the goodness of her presence.<p>

It was late and the rolling vibration of the train was soothing. Jane paused outside of Maura's door and closed her eyes. _She could be asleep_. It took less than a second to ponder if she really cared. Their dance couldn't go on forever. There was a timeline now. In two weeks they would be in the arena. Jane knocked on the door; she couldn't afford to waste another night.

"Come in."

Maura was sitting on the edge of the bed in the same standard issue t-shirt and her underwear, her hands gripped the mattress on each side of her body and a slight smile worked its way across her face as Jane entered. "I was hoping you would come."

"Didn't like your pajama pants?" Jane chuckled as she sat down on the bed next to her solemn friend.

"They itch."

"Yeah," Jane nodded.

They both stared ahead for a few moments. There was no need to rush; the words would come. Jane heard Maura sniffle and noticed the tears slowly trickling down her cheek. She reached out and let the backs of her fingers settle gently on Maura's face as her thumb stroked with understanding lightness across Maura's cheekbone and under her eye to wipe the moisture away.

"Too many tears today," Jane said as Maura nodded in agreement. "You know, when we arrive…there can't be anymore of that."

"When you were reaped the first time…I cried all night. All I could think about was that day in the cafeteria and how you'd never know what it meant to me. And how I'd never get to repay you. I remember my parents were so confused. Because I had never cried after a reaping before…I had no friends to cry for. I buried my face in my pillow so they couldn't hear me scream, _why her_, over and over again." Maura reached for Jane's hand and held her palm more firmly to her cheek. "You volunteered today because you think you can protect me."

Jane cupped Maura's face and leaned in closer, "We protect each other. We always have, even if we didn't know it. Somehow, we found each other for that."

Maura reached for Jane, sliding one hand through Jane's dark hair and kneading her scalp. Her other hand dragged lightly down Jane's face, tracing the outline of her bone structure and ghosting over her trembling lower lip. "We did. Is that all?"

Jane shook her head, "No, I volunteered today…because without you…I have nothing left to live for."

Maura's breath hitched at the long-awaited admission before her lips were overtaken by Jane's. Seventeen years of longing and desire erupted in a heated and frenetic kiss. Jane pulled away first, breaking their connection with an audible pop. Pupils dilated, chest heaving, she stared into Maura's equally wanton eyes and waited, the question of just how far teetered on the tip of her tongue but was loathe to be made explicit.

Fingertips slid down her face, Jane watched as Maura's hands pulled away and reached for the hem of her own shirt, lifting it in one fluid motion over her head before tossing it to the floor. "Does that answer your question?" Maura asked.

Permission granted Jane pushed her back on the bed, shedding her own shirt and pants before sliding her fingers inside the waistband of Maura's panties and tugging them slowly down until freed and tossed in the pile with the other garments.

The next kiss simmered and bloomed with greater tenderness. Jane settled on top of her and gently pressed their lips together, her tongue flitting across the supple flesh before claiming the inside of her mouth. Competing moans rolled out as they traded the warmth and taste of each other. Maura's body flushed and arched as Jane began to palm and massage her breasts, trailing tingling kisses across the racing pulse in her neck before nipping at her collarbone and then letting her tongue circle, engulf and suckle first one nipple and then the other. Each jerk of Maura's body in anticipation of the next kiss urged Jane lower, down the dip between ample breasts, over the last bone of her ribs until she lavished praise on the smooth skin of Maura's abdomen.

"Jane," Maura finally managed, nearly breathless from the heady intoxication of years of anticipation finally nearing fulfillment. "Jane…I want to see you."

Jane's hand continued to snake lower as she repositioned herself over Maura, acquiescing easily when Maura pulled her down and into another kiss. Fingers continued to tease, tracing Maura's hipbone and stroking through the short curls at her apex before settling on her inner thigh and pushing her legs further apart.

Their eyes met, Maura's fluttering as her lips parted when Jane's fingers finally made contact, sliding back and forth slowly through silky arousal. Hips rolled to meet the tantalizing circles Jane initiated until finally Jane slipped with ease inside her. Maura hummed and held her breath, eyes closing as her fingers dug into the warm flesh of Jane's back as a torturously slow rhythm filled her.

"Jane…" it slipped out in a breathy sigh as Maura's body writhed to Jane's quickening strokes. "Jane…"

The connection was inexplicable; they fit together as if they always had. Jane sucked lightly on the burning skin under Maura's ear that grew increasingly salty with accumulating perspiration. As her lips wandered back to Maura's, it made perfect sense, they always had fit together, point and counterpoint – the perfect balance. She didn't need to ask Maura why she was calling her name, they were equally transparent, trading desires as easily and recognizable as if fleshed out in the clearest of words. But, there were no words. None were needed.

Jane slowed her thrusts, focused her thumb on Maura's wet and aching point of release and began to stroke. Muscles coiled and tightened under her and around her. Their lips hovered only a breath apart, moaning exhalations trading back and forth across the almost nonexistent distance.

"Open your eyes," Jane whispered, her voice was low and rumbled into Maura's chest causing her to buck and pull Jane into another kiss.

Maura eased back, arms straining to keep her locked to Jane as the pleasure of orgasm began to barrel through her. She fought the urge to close her eyes, throw her head back and scream. With one final circle of Jane's touch the pleasure rocked her, drawing out body-shaking jerks and spasms. Liberation. Maura curled forward, arms and legs locking in a vice around Jane's body as she buried her face in Jane's neck. Tears mingled with sweat in liquid emotions that carried their expression of relief and regret in a purifying purge of drops that spread like tendrils down Maura's face to Jane's neck, rolling over the rise of her collarbone before disappearing.

Jane sat up and pulled Maura to straddle her; she pressed her lips to Maura's soaked skin, letting the tears soothe her red and swollen lips, "Better late than never."

"If I could stop time…right here…" Maura kissed her back, taking the control that was ceded to her.

"There's no such thing as enough time," Jane whispered, "not when it comes to being with you."

Maura reached between them, winding her free hand through Jane's hair as she moved to give back what she had received. Her fingers sought out wet heat and as she neared the source she felt the body in her arms tense and stiffen. "Shhh…" Maura cooed, placing soft and lingering kisses on Jane's temple. "I'm not him."

_Deep breath_. Jane released it slowly and with it the momentary recall of him inside her, her grip on Maura's arm relaxed as muscle after muscle followed into a state of détente. The touch was slow and deliberate, Maura's fingers dipped down to gather moisture and then returned to her clit with soothing and sensual ministrations.

No one had ever treated her with this tenderness. Only Maura's hands had ever felt this soft on her body, whether tending her wounds or now, the mere presence of her touch in any form tamed her. Jane let her head loll and eventually rest on an inviting shoulder, she tried to regulate her breathing, she wanted to come but not if it meant the cessation of Maura's touch. Her hands found their way to Maura's scarred back. Blindly she traced each lash mark. Suddenly, her entire body felt ignited. Each time her fingertips made contact with those gnarled and raised defects she remembered the weight and warmth of the body covering her that night, the reassurance of the arms that wrapped around her and held her while she sobbed…that held her while she was, for once, spared.

Jane gasped in a series of staccato breaths as she came, holding tightly to Maura as she rode out the aftershocks of release. It was unlike any orgasm she'd ever felt because it wasn't centered where Maura's hand slowed and stilled from its delicate caress. She eased them down to the bed holding Maura on top of her so that their chests were flush together. Jane closed her eyes and felt the pulse of Maura's heart enter her body and synchronize with her own.

"There…" Jane muttered faintly, stress and exhaustion dragging them both quickly towards sleep, "…right there."


	7. To The Last

**CH 7: To The Last**

"Jane…"

The word rolled warmly and softly across her skin. She tightened her grip around the body in her embrace and let her cheek rest against the head in the crook of her neck. It had taken too long to find comfort like what she was presently feeling and she battled against waking for fear of losing it.

"Jane…"

The repetition of her name again floated across her skin on an understated breath. Eyes closed she conjured memories from the previous night, her lips on Maura's, their bodies intertwined. Release.

"Jane…someone's knocking at the door."

Maura didn't seem inclined to move and with little thought to the words, Jane blurted out, "Come in."

The door to the cabin swung open as the far too chipper voice of their escort barreled into the room, "You're late for breakfa…." Effie stopped her announcement abruptly and stood dumbfounded in the entryway.

Morning was only half the sleep-rousing enemy that Effie Trinket was.

"Jane, we're naked," Maura tried to contain the smirk as she curled tighter into Jane's side and let her hand slide down to cover Jane's breast, after all it was Jane who was mostly exposed.

With the deft kick of her foot Jane caught the sheet in mid-air and pulled it over them. She stared at Effie…Effie stared back at her, glanced at Maura and then back. Jane brought her hand to her face and massaged her temple, "You were saying? Or are you just going to stand there and stare at us?"

Effie huffed disapprovingly at her tone, "Breakfast!" she announced with one final pause, her eyebrow arching as she surveyed again the scene in front of her before turning and meting out a furious clip-clop as she disappeared down the hall.

Awake, Jane rolled on her side and further entangled her limbs with Maura's. She had slept: much like those nights in Maura's apartment recovering after the fight – peacefully. Seventeen years ago she'd barely slept on the train or the following days in preparation for the arena. At one point there had even been talk of drugging her. But, last night, she had slept – easily, without nightmares or nervous waking. If every night from that point on could be spent in Maura's arms, Jane knew that at least she would be well rested for the Games.

She pressed her lips to Maura's forehead and let them linger. They could stay in bed all day if they wanted. It would send Effie into a fit for sure; the escorts did love their schedule preparation lectures and the accompanying sense of power. Taunting their escort was entirely its own incentive and a potential bonus. Korsak would side with them. It was a very alluring thought and she entertained it for a solid minute before a somber realization reasserted its unavoidable logic. She might be prepared for the Games…but Maura was not.

"I don't think our escort thinks too highly of us," Maura joked, smiling as she reached to brush Jane's hair back and run her fingers over a deeply furrowed brow.

"Well, she'll get over it," Jane countered. "Besides, you should have met Gaia Baldrick in person. I think she was actually pissed off that I lived after all the hell I put her through before the Games even started. Her disappointment vanished quickly though, when she got her cushy promotion for being the victor's escort."

Maura had entertained the same thought Jane had just been mulling over: spending all day in the cabin, just the two of them. Jane watched her eyes flutter on the verge of slipping back to sleep. It gave her all the more reason to give up the delusion of wasting the day nude in bed. She wanted Maura's eyes to open for many more mornings. "Come on," Jane whispered, leaning forward to kiss Maura on the cheek. "Breakfast!" She sung out mockingly.

* * *

><p>Korsak poured a second cup of coffee and doctored it with thick cream and sugar. He cocked his head towards the door of the dining car as Jane and Maura entered and then returned his attention to the piping hot beverage in front of him. "Sleep well?" He muttered with more than a note of humorous sarcasm as Jane sat across from him.<p>

"Very," she answered nonchalantly as she helped herself to the steaming breakfast bar.

He hated this role. Mentor. But, Vince Korsak had dutifully fulfilled it year after year ever since he'd come back from the Games alive. He didn't like to think about the number. It wasn't just an accumulation of years of forced servitude; it was lives…times two…every year, except for one. At first he tried to forget their names, he thought maybe, like their faces the names would eventually slip into oblivion. But, they never did. Korsak named his animals after the fallen tributes. At least that way, he could really take care of them.

"We have a lot we need to discuss today…" he began.

Jane held up her hand and stopped him, letting her fork clatter to the plate, "Can we…" she paused and took a deep breath. "Can we just save talk of the Games until after breakfast? I'd like to eat in peace."

Effie closed her ornate, gold filigree accented binder and smiled, "Any questions!"

_Same old, same old_. Jane rolled her eyes. "Hail the conquering heroes, dress us up, trot us out like prized fucking ponies, watch us die. I think we've got it. We've seen the show before…wait, I've been _**IN**_ the show before." Deep down she knew she should reign in her hatred and indignation. In so many ways Effie was really like a child. She didn't know any better. She had been raised in the Capitol. How could the spectator know what it was like to be the entertainment? But, for the moment, Effie was the Capitol. She was the only outlet Jane had for her anger and frustration.

Effie pursed her lips, "It's an honor," she responded defiantly. "You have…other pressing business to discuss. I'll leave you in the hands of your mentor for the remainder of the afternoon." She stood, took extra time to straighten and smooth her clothes and with her nose upturned exited the room.

* * *

><p>Maura had sat silently and rigidly throughout Effie's entire spiel on the tributes' schedule. Jane reached out and put her hand on her shoulder, "Hey, talk to me?"<p>

Maura shrugged away from the touch and walked to the window. There was a world out there, a green world so very different from the drab monotony of District 8. She was seeing it for the first time…and most likely, the last.

Korsak knew that unacknowledged feelings between his friend and the seamstress had simmered for years. Being reaped had clearly at long last brought out admissions that should have been made years earlier. He knew what it was like to love someone like he knew Jane and Maura loved each other and ultimately, what it was like to lose that someone. They hadn't lost each other yet, but the elephant in the room was the inevitability off that loss. They couldn't both win. One would have to watch the other die. But, now was not the time for friendly commiseration over the absolute raw hand they had all been dealt.

He sighed, "As unpleasant as it is…we need to formulate a preliminary strategy for the arena."

"Simple," Jane leaned forward and rested her arms on her knees as she stared at Korsak matter-of-factly, "She lives. And I will destroy anyone who gets in my way of making sure that happens. She lives. To my last breath."

Maura couldn't contain the choking sobs that fought their way out; she placed her hand on the window to brace herself. Jane's arms snaked comfortingly around her and pulled them together.

"Shhh," Jane whispered into her neck with soft kisses. "I know. Listen to me. This is how it will be. I will give everything I have to make sure that no one hurts you…" Jane lifted Maura's chin, "…and to make sure that you don't have to hurt anyone. And when it's all over, you will go back to District 8 with Korsak. You will have a life. I want you to have a life."

"I want a life with you!" Maura slammed her hands into Jane's chest and balled the soft leather of her jacket in her tightening fists. "I don't want you to die for me. I don't want you to die at all!"

"Maura…" Jane wrenched Maura's hands from her jacket and clasped them. "Look at me, there is no other way. You help people. The district needs you…if it's one of us, it should be you. I…need it to be you."

"It's not that simple," Korsak stood and walked towards them. "There will be alliances. Stronger alliances than in a regular year. The other victors, they all know each other, Jane. They've known each other for years. And you've never been back to the Capitol. They'll go after the non-victors first. But, when there are none of them left…"

"And four days isn't going to make up for years of having not known them," Jane huffed. "The Careers will align just like they always have, and they'll pull in victors from other Districts that they've become friends with. There's nothing I can do about that Korsak, and I don't intend to waste what little time we have trying."

"Then what do you intend to do!" Korsak's face had grown redder by the minute and was now an enflamed crimson.

"What I did the first time. Play smarter, not harder. Avoid everyone, for as long as possible. Let them pick each other off until I have no other choice and run that gauntlet when I come to it. What good, in the end, are alliances in the arena Korsak?" Jane's face softened as she made her point. "Really? There can only be one. All alliances will fail."

"They can buy you time, Jane," he pleaded.

Jane laughed, tightened her arms around Maura and pressed her lips to the crown of the silent woman's head, "I'm not trying to buy a couple of extra days at someone else's mercy, Korsak. I'm trying to win."

* * *

><p>"Is she going to be ok?" Korsak asked as Jane returned from settling Maura back in her room.<p>

"That's a stupid question." Jane rubbed her face as if she could wipe the stress and anxiety away. "She's angry. At the Capitol. At me…for volunteering. She thinks I'm martyring myself and she knows there's nothing she can do to change my mind."

Korsak nodded and poured Jane a glass of some kind of booze and handed it to her, "Well, aren't you? Martyring yourself?" He watched Jane regard the beverage with trepidation, "Tastes like a way better version of the brown liquor old Pete whips up."

Jane took a sniff and threw a sip back, "Wow. I could get used to that." Korsak immediately topped her off. "So what if I am? Like I said. There is no other way."

They sat on the sofa, side by side and spent several minutes in contemplative silence punctuated only by the soft clinks of ice against glass as they sipped their drinks.

"It's never been done before," Korsak mused. Jane regarded him with a sideways glance and a nod and took another long draw off the smooth liquor. "Two tributes…allied out of love for each other."

Jane stiffened and cleared her throat.

"Ah," Korsak snorted under his breath. "You haven't said it yet."

"She knows," Jane replied, lowering her drink to her lap and staring down.

"It's not the same." He stood and poured them both a refill. "You never met my Melody. She was before your time."

Jane looked up, curious now. Everyone knew Korsak had had a wife. But, he never talked about her. She thought back to every time she'd been in his house; there weren't even any pictures. Maybe somewhere, Korsak had a little wooden box like she did that held a photo that couldn't be let go but that was too painful to look at.

"She was beautiful. I…" he laughed, "…don't know what she ever saw in a guy like me. We were sweethearts, before I was reaped. And when I came back we got married. Cayden didn't want to mentor anymore, he was on the verge of tripping down the path of lunacy that you've always known, but I didn't want to start. I'd only just gotten through the horror of my own ordeal and then they wanted me to go back. I refused."

"That's why you never pressed me to mentor…because you knew what it felt like." Jane took a deep breath and closed her eyes. His burden seemed even more stark, all those years of boarding the train alone, with no one but two frightened children and a Capitol lackey as company.

"They took her away, Jane." He sat down by Jane's side again. "They took her away. You're not the only recipient of one of Hoyt's messages. I didn't want to play their game. When they took Melody, it was their way of telling me that I had no choice."

Jane put her arm around her friend and let her head fall to his shoulder, "I'm sorry."

"Sometimes I think that maybe she's still alive. And that if I just keep soldiering on, just keep mentoring…maybe one day…they'll give her back." Korsak reached for the corner of his eye and wiped the tears away.

"Promise me something," Jane set her drink aside and stood, "If I succeed…"

Korsak stood to face her, "I'll make sure no one ever lays an ill-purposed finger on her." He set his near empty drink down and cupped Jane's face firmly in his hands, "To my last breath."

* * *

><p><em>When did the night come?<em> It seemed like barely minutes had passed since she and Maura had awakened tangled in each other. But, as she walked from the dining car back to Maura's room the darkness that had fallen on each window told another story. Everything was just as it had been before. A day lost to reliving the past, and thinking and strategizing about how to make a future.

Jane slipped into Maura's room quietly and without knocking, surely they were past that now. The lights were on and Maura was sitting upright in the bed. She pulled the covers back and stood to meet Jane, kissing her neck as she wrapped her arms around Jane's sunken form.

"I'm sorry," Maura apologized, trailing kisses down Jane's jaw and across her chin until their lips met.

"Don't be sorry," Jane gave in to the kiss, let Maura take the pain away and breathe some semblance of life back in return.

"No," Maura pulled back, "Everything about these Games is repugnant to me. What they've done to our people for seventy-five years. What they did to you. What…" her eyes cut away but she forced her gaze to return to Jane, "…what they're going to do to us. But, if we have to do this…I don't want to be the weak one. I don't want you to think I'm weak."

"I don't think you're weak," Jane shed the leather jacket Maura had given her on Reaping day, and stood still as deft seamstress hands freed button after button down the front of her shirt. "I think you must be amazingly strong to have grown up feeling so neglected and yet devoted your life to taking away everyone else's pain."

Maura pushed Jane's shirt over her shoulders and to the floor and then reached behind and freed her bra as well. "I couldn't ease your pain…not all of it. I wanted to…so badly. To take it all away."

Jane unfastened her pants and stepped out of them, "You're the only reason I dragged my blade across my arms instead of my wrists or throat all those years. Did you know? That I did it on purpose, to have an excuse to come see you?"

"Yes," Maura replied.

Both completely undressed, Maura walked Jane backwards to the bed and guided her down. Easing one of Jane's legs up, Maura straddled her, shifting and rolling her hips until she could feel the warmth of Jane's center sliding against her own.

"Is this ok?" Maura questioned, cognizant of Jane's vulnerability, as she slowly and lightly rocked against her. Jane nodded, her breathing growing heavier as she grasped Maura's buttock with one hand and urged her on.

"Faster, Maura. Please." Jane arched and bucked to match Maura's rhythm, biting her lip as Maura reached for her breast and rolled a pert nipple between her fingers.

Breaths and the occasional moan or hum became the only sound in the room as they moved against each other. As Maura neared her climax her fingers curled into the flesh of Jane's leg, which was draped over one shoulder as the other squeezed her breast. She could feel the lithe body beneath her tensing and beginning to tremble with impending orgasm. Maura came first, beset by a series of body-shaking spasms that pulled Jane over the edge with her.

Jane's leg lowered and Maura slumped forward, bracing herself against Jane's chest with her hands. She let her fingers slide and wander across the perspiration-slicked skin under her touch. As steady hands brushed back her hair and settled on her face, Maura smiled and looked into Jane's eyes.

"Who's the strongest person you know?" Jane asked.

"You."

Jane caressed her face, "Do you think I'd let a weak person have me?"

* * *

><p>Time was her enemy now, and one that could not be defeated. No weapon even the Capitol conjured could halt time much less beat it back. Perhaps time had always been her biggest foe. In only a couple of hours they would arrive in the Capitol.<p>

Jane propped herself on her elbow and looked down at Maura still asleep as the first light of dawn began to illuminate the small cabin. Her fingers carefully took hold of the thin sheet that was draped across her lover and peeled it back until Maura's back was exposed.

"How could you think you're weak?" Jane whispered as her eyes fell on the mass of scars that marred the otherwise flawless form in front of her. She touched them; let her fingers ghost as softly as possible across the discolored and mangled marks.

"You saved my life that night." Jane stilled her hand in the middle of Maura's back. The night Frankie died, she was ready to let go. What little joy she had managed to eek out since her own victory had been stripped away. When she stumbled drunk down the street under the black and star-less sky, the flesh was all that was left. She would have let Peacekeeper Crowe's whip take that away too. But, Maura had saved her. Now, she intended to repay her for that.

Jane leaned down and pressed her lips to one of the scars and lingered there for a moment. As she pulled back she could see the moisture left by her kiss glisten in the early morning light. She kissed the next scar and the next and the next, determined that each one would know what that night had really meant to her.

Maura's eyes opened but she held still and let Jane make her full amends, waiting until the body had settled back down next to her. She reached out and let her hand rest on Jane's cheek. "I love you too, Jane."


	8. Dark Horse

**CH 8: Dark Horse**

The Capitol citizens lined the tracks as their train pulled in. Maura could hear their raucous cheers as the train slowed to a near crawl. The onlookers congregated on the platform, pointing and waving until the train disappeared into the underground tunnel. Her hands tightened around Jane's arm. She knew her grip was probably painful but the contact was all that kept her standing…kept her from running through the cars towards the back of the train where the idle hope existed in the back of her mind that a door to the outside might be open, that just maybe she could escape. It was a fleeting dream. That would mean leaving Jane and the thought of that was even more terrifying than the knowledge of what lay ahead.

"It's a circus," she whispered, under her breath not intending anyone to hear.

Jane wrapped her arms around Maura, rubbing her back, trying to soothe her as much as possible. There was an unacknowledged futility to it. "And we're the animals," she replied.

Maura closed her eyes, tried to block it out, to reign in the frantic breaths that were spiraling her closer and closer towards hyperventilation and possible unconsciousness. "What happens now?" Plans. A schedule. The structure could bring order to her emotional chaos.

"They'll take us to the Remake Center. Get us all cleaned up for the Opening Ceremony. They probably won't do much to you…you're beautiful already."

_You're beautiful already. _Maura smiled. She felt almost guilty for succumbing to the pleasure of the words at first; as if the situation they were being forced into somehow negated any happiness they might be able to steal. Simple moments. A phrase uttered in passing, so nonchalant, if they had a lifetime together they would lose count of every time a compliment like that was paid. But, they didn't have a lifetime together. If she could, she would catch those words out of the air, wrap them in the finest silk and lock them in a box. A treasure to keep always.

* * *

><p>The escorts that came every year for the Reaping where odd enough, the prep team that had been assigned to make them over for the Opening Ceremony were an oddity the likes of which Maura had never imagined. Venia, Flavius and Octavia came bustling into the remake room, giggling and cooing and talking back and forth to one another so fast Maura had to strain to make out what they were saying. Octavia drew her eye first; she was green – very nearly the color of pea soup. Maura watched slack-jawed as the woman circled her.<p>

"Are you ill?" Maura asked quizzically earning an audible snort from Jane. She jerked as Octavia reached to touch her, unsure if the bizarre skin tone was cosmetic or some kind of affliction.

Octavia paused, clearly confused as to what Maura was referring, her complexion being as natural to someone from the Capitol as it was unnatural to someone from the districts. She noted how Maura's eyes trailed all over her body, "Oh! Heavens no!" She ran one hand up her bare arm, "It's just dye. It's absolutely all the rage this year!"

Venia stepped in front of Maura and grasped her chin lightly, leaning in for closer inspection. She sported a coiffure of bright turquoise hair and elaborate gold tattoos that spiraled down her face. "Lovely. Just lovely! Have you ever seen a tribute from District 8 that's this lovely? I dare say we rarely see a tribute from any district this lovely! We won't have to do much at all! Not much at all!"

"Well," Flavius sighed as he took a look at Jane's rough hewn and wiry body, "I can't say the same for this one!"

They all had the same vocal tones and inflections as Effie, and probably of all the escorts from all the years before. That strange Capitol accent, the sing-song punctuation of the ends of sentences that made everything sound capped by an exclamation. But, more than that, they were truly giddy about the Games. They enjoyed this. They enjoyed their role in it. It was Effie, sitting down to stuff her face at the dinner table immediately after the Reaping; it was her conception of their place as tributes as an honor. It was, in the truest sense of the word…a game to them. It was a spectacle of entertainment, nothing more than an excuse to eat and drink, to socialize and to wear fancy clothes.

A sickening feeling settled in the pit of Maura's stomach. Like the bullfights in long ago human history she had read about, she and Jane were merely cattle; they would be prettied up, adorned with finery and then the Capitol's citizens would cheer as spears pierced their flesh. And those gawkers wouldn't cry, and they wouldn't feel bad…because you don't cry when the intended sacrifice dies.

* * *

><p>"Wow," Jane chuckled as she gave Maura a once over. "You…still look like you…only…" she ran her fingers down the newly smoothed skin of Maura's arm and inhaled the delicate perfume that emanated off her body. "Shinier."<p>

"I see they tamed your hair a bit." Maura winked as she reached up and fingered one of the silky, large barrel curls that lay coiled on Jane's shoulder. "Despite Octavius's comment, I liked how you looked and…" she leaned in and placed a kiss on Jane's neck, "…smelled before. Like yourself. Like home."

"I was concerned I wouldn't have any skin left by the time they were finished, between the scrubbing…and the waxing..." Jane shifted uncomfortably and made a face seeking some kind of commiseration from Maura. "They kept on about trying to get all the grime off…I kept telling them that's just what color my skin is."

The doors behind them flung open and they turned to finally see their stylists: one man and one woman striding towards them.

"Hello, Jane. I'm Cinna, your stylist." His green eyes sparkled with a pacifying warmth that ran all the way through to his hand which enveloped Jane's.

"And I'm Portia, Maura. I'm Cinna's partner, and I'll be your stylist." Portia batted large fake eyelashes as she smiled. Her appearance was more in line with everyone Maura had seen in the Capitol so far. Cinna, on the other hand, was far more understated. His only apparent cosmetic application: a fine line of gold eyeliner. He wore a tailored outfit in basic black.

"Usually, with a male and a female tribute, we ready them separately," Cinna's eyes trailed down the forms of the women in front of him to where their hands were linked. "But, if you'd rather…"

Jane cut him off, "Together. We'd rather stay together."

* * *

><p>"It's…I never realized how involved it all is…behind the scenes," Maura mused as they stood in the prep room where they would be outfitted in costumes reflective of their district.<p>

"Oh, it's planned down to the most minute of details," Cinna's warm voice floated through the air. "Head Gamemaker Gabriel Dean is quite thorough."

_And quite ruthless_. The Third Quarter Quell would be Dean's fourth Games as Head Gamemaker. Jane recalled how each of the previous years there seemed to be more catastrophic twists. She shuddered to think what he might have planned for the Quell.

From behind her, Portia grasped the lapels of Maura's robe and slid it off, gasping in horror instantly at the sight of the scars.

"Don't worry," Maura's head dropped as she spoke softly, "they don't hurt."

Jane's hand eased under her chin and lifted it, "Don't you ever feel ashamed of those." Her eyes flitted accusatorily to each of the prep team members, "They should be ashamed."

Cinna's hand settled gently between Maura's shoulder blades as he shook his head reproachfully at Portia, "Your costume tonight will cover them."

"And we'll have time to have them removed before the interviews in two days," Portia added.

"No!" Maura spun around, eyes burning with rejection of the idea. Her face flushed red with hot anger. If Jane did indeed die in the arena, the scars would be the only physical connection she could carry on. "No," she said again with reasserted calm as she looked at Jane, "No, I need to keep them."

* * *

><p>The district costumes were typically trite and usually dreadful. There were only so many ways one could convey textiles manufacturing in costume. Though, Jane counted her blessings given District 8's specialty. One year, the female tribute from District 4 had been sent out into the Opening Ceremony topless and outfitted with a mermaid tail. Seventeen years ago, both tributes from District 7 had been virtually nude with only small leaves pasted on their bodies to cover them.<p>

She wasn't much of an actress. Add to that being seventeen, reaped and torn from the arms of her family, Jane stood in the prep room simmering with vile hate and complete disinterest in pretending to be the good soldier. _Jane!_ Her stylist smiled as if he had come up with the most original idea since the creation of the Games themselves. _You will portray a seamstress and Gerald will be your fitting dummy._

It was almost appropriate. Gerald Rogers was most certainly not the brightest child in District 8. It didn't mean he deserved to die. But, die he did. Confused and paralyzed by fear he didn't move from his platform and was cut down by another a tribute a mere one minute into the Games.

Jane eyed Cinna and Portia, "So, the old seamstress schtick again this year?"

"No," Cinna answered matter of factly as Portia rejoined them carrying two garment bags. "The costumes for your district have always been so bland…so drab."

_Well, they ARE supposed to be representative of the district_, Jane retorted in her head as Cinna unzipped the bags to allow wave after wave of shimmering silk fabric to unfurl.

"I'd rather focus on the beauty of what you produce…the clothing itself," he pulled the first dress from the bag and handed it to Portia who immediately set to dressing Maura.

The dress was white and fell in creamy ripples down Maura's body as she was clothed. Jane's eyes dragged slowly down the garment where the white began to bleed seamlessly into increasingly darker shades of blue. Sheer fabric that started at the neck gathered down the back and floated into an airy train, which fluttered and hung in the air with little more than a heavy exhale.

Jane couldn't tear her eyes away from Maura, even as Cinna pulled her own dress from its bag and stood in front of her.

"Jane," he repeated her name calmly until she acknowledged him. "May I?"

"Yeah, sorry," she dropped her own robe and allowed Cinna to dress her, only her garment was the mirror opposite of Maura's in color, beginning as a dark navy at the top it decreased in saturation until the bottom of the skirt was pure white.

* * *

><p>Their hands had never broken their link as they made their way escorted by their stylists to the waiting chariots that would carry them through the City Circle along the parade route.<p>

Attendants held nervous horses that snorted and pawed at the ground as the tributes approached, as if they knew the weight of their charges.

It was the first time they had all seen each other. Jane hadn't even bothered to ask Korsak what other victors had been reaped. In some instances, there was no need to. Most of the time, the poorer districts, like 11 and 12 only had one victor. Rondo always seemed so jovial on the yearly Games interviews, not now as he sulked towards his chariot and swatted away any attempt by his stylist to adjust his attire. Haymitch Abernathy seemed equally implacable and very likely drunk to boot as he tripped trying to step up into the chariot.

There were no horses in District 8. Jane in tow, Maura pulled away from Cinna and Portia and approached the animals harnessed to their ride and ran her hand down a pristine white neck as the steed's skin twitched under her touch. Jane looked at the two horses: one white mare and one black and then glanced at the other chariots that were all hitched to matching pairs and then to her and Maura's off-setting dresses.

"Clever," she looked at Cinna as she said it; this one was different. It struck her she may not have given him enough credit, "I suppose I'm the black one."

He smiled as he made a last minute adjustment to her hair, "Well, you've always been the dark horse, now haven't you, Jane?"

Portia presented him with two long strips of tailored silk, one white and one blue. Cinna held them and ran the glossy fabric through the palms of his hand. "Just, one more touch." Portia guided Jane and Maura to again clasp hands as Cinna began to weave the cloth from their elbows, down their arms towards their hands – binding them together.

Jane and Maura watched with shock. _He doesn't know. He can't possibly know what…_ Jane finally tore her eyes away, "Cinna." He stopped his braiding and looked at her with question.

"You…you…" Jane stammered at first. "Was this part…planned?"

"It just occurred to me a few hours ago," he paused and waited, cognizant that further words were on the tip of her tongue.

Jane's right hand reached across for the fabric and touched it, tracing the strips down her and Maura's arms, "In District 8…this is…our wedding ritual. The union isn't considered final until the couple's hands are bound with strips of fabric."

Cinna looked down. Maura and Jane's hands still clung desperately to one another. He glanced up, first at Jane and then at Maura, "I can remove it, if you'd like."

Maura flexed her fingers and then tightened them further around Jane's. Their eyes met, that subtle communication through wordlessness they had somehow honed in such a short time revealed the answer.

"Leave it on," Jane replied.

* * *

><p>The crowd roared as each tribute team emerged from the Remake Center in their chariot. The streets were literally brimming with people, an ocean of bodies bedecked in their most outrageous outfits, wave after wave and line after line of bodies as far as the eye could see. The wind blew through the weightless fabric that draped the backs of their dresses and created a billowing cloud of blues and white that hung in the air as they moved. Jane glanced over her shoulder; despite the garments' carefully planned simplicity the effect was by far the most eye catching of any of the costumes. The crowd pointed and cheered as they passed.<p>

As they entered the City Circle Jane regarded their hands. A moment of sorrow overtook her as she realized that simple gesture, unintended as it might have been, was the closest she and Maura would come to any kind of official declaration of what they meant to one another. She wanted it to be seen. To the Capitol and 11 other districts it would mean nothing. But, back home, her mother and somewhere her father, Maura's parents and Paddy Doyle, and the whole of District 8 would be watching. They would understand. She hoisted their hands into the air as the chariots entered the circle's loop and she kept them aloft as they came to a steady halt in front of President Hoyt's mansion.

President Hoyt walked to the balcony and raised his hand to quiet the crowd. He surveyed the tributes, starting with District 1 to his left and down the line until he came to Jane and Maura, their hands still defiantly raised. Seeing his face, actually seeing his face…not on some television broadcast but there in person, breathing the same air that she breathed sent a streaking sensation of terror through Jane's body that she feared might shatter her into tiny pieces. She might die before the Games even began. It was at that moment, when she felt she might buckle under the weight of it all that she felt Maura's hand squeeze tighter, felt those hazel eyes looking at her and she allowed Maura to pull their hands down.

"It's ok, Jane." Maura whispered as Hoyt continued on into the official welcome. "It's ok."

* * *

><p>Once inside the elevator of the Training Center's residential tower they gave in and melted into one another. Jane hid her face in Maura's neck and sighed, she didn't care that Effie was standing right next to them positively energized by how well received they had been. She only wanted Maura's arms around her and hers around Maura.<p>

Jane hadn't really paid attention to the décor in their accommodations in her previous Games; she had been so dead set on rejecting any amount of luxury offered by the Capitol. But, Maura's awe was infectious and this time she paused to take it in. The room itself seemed to have motion; the curve of its walls and the complimentary geometry of the furniture guided her eye in carefully plotted patterns around the space.

Gratefully, Korsak brought her back to reality before she could admire it too much. "Jane, you know where the quarters are if the two of you would like to clean up before dinner. I took the liberty of having the Avox combine your things into one room…I assumed…"

Jane managed a smile of gratitude and gave him a friendly pat on the arm, "Thanks."

* * *

><p>"Jane?" Maura called from the bathroom, her voice laced with confusion.<p>

Suspicions over the cause of that confusion were confirmed as she entered to find Maura standing naked in the shower stall, staring at the plethora of buttons her finger hovering in the air as she tried to decide which to push.

"Can't figure it out?"

"I'm at a loss," Maura giggled, amused at her own ineptitude to operate something as simple as a shower. Only, it wasn't a simple shower, it was a Capitol shower and therefore unnecessarily complicated with every imaginable special feature.

Jane stripped and stepped in with her. "The first time I used one of these things I nearly scalded the skin off my body. Then I blasted myself with a jet so cold I jumped and hit my head on the wall."

It surprised her how the combination of buttons came back to mind. She reached for a sponge and worked a lather into it before gently scrubbing Maura's back in soft circles. Maura let her head loll forward as Jane washed away all of the day's stress. She hummed as the sponge was discarded, falling to the tile floor at her feet as Jane pressed flush against her back and let her hands slide through the soapy streaks on her stomach.

"How do you think your mother is holding up?" Maura asked as she turned in Jane's arms and began to wash away the heavy makeup that streaked her lover's face. Family. The notion of it had weighed heavily on her for the past two days. In Jane's arms, she finally felt like a part of something and now it was all being taken away.

Jane shook her head, "I don't know that she'll survive it this time. The first time I was reaped, I only thought about how unfair it was to me. Now, all these years I've watched parent after parent have to outlive their child. Mine has had to send two to the Games, and Tommy…if he's not dead, death might be a kinder fate than whatever he's been subjected to. Ma has to watch us die…and she's supposed to go on living with that."

Maura raised up on her toes and pressed her lips to Jane's, fingers tightening in dark, wet hair. "She's strong. Like you."

"What did your parents say? In the Justice Building after the Reaping."

A childlike smile crept across her face as she closed her eyes and recalled the scene. She'd never in her life seen either one of them cry; yet, in they came, faces red and swollen, fresh tears flowing freely. Very few words were spoken. They held each other, a physical contact Maura hadn't experienced since childhood.

She opened her eyes and looked at Jane, "They told me they loved me."

The shower cycle completed, Jane guided Maura onto the mat outside the stall where heaters dried them from head to toe.

"If this all works out, and you get to go home," she cupped Maura's face, "Tell my Ma, I'm sorry. Take care of her for me. She needs someone; she's been alone for too long."


	9. Training Days

**CH 9: Training Days**

Maura marveled at how at peace with what lay ahead Jane seemed to be. Deep down, she knew Jane being at peace didn't really mean much more than acceptance of the inevitable: that she was prepared and willing to die to ensure that Maura lived. Her sleep was serene and uninterrupted. But, the same was not true of Maura's slumber. Each night dragged her closer and closer to unimaginable horror. Though the passage of minutes and hours was regulated and steady, each morning since the Reaping hastened with cruel urgency towards black nights that faded into one less day until they were sent to the arena. One less day with Jane. One day closer to either or both of their inevitable deaths.

She had awakened before the dawn and found that she had turned away from Jane in the few hours of sleep she had managed. Waking like that sent a shiver of cold absence down her spine. Maura rolled over and rested her head in the crook of Jane's neck. The skin on skin contact only accentuated the plummeting feeling in the hollow of her chest. She was falling. And each day brought her free fall closer to the ground with nothing but the stark and brutal soil of the arena to halt her descent.

Morning light crept with little regard into the room until the weight of a new day hung in the air. The sunbeams almost taunted her, dancing across walls and the spartan furniture, tripping lightly and with reckless abandon as to the hours they heralded across the bed and Jane's scarred skin.

Maura sat up and looked down at the naked body of her lover. Jane slept, oblivious to the eyes pouring over her. She let her hand settle lightly in the center of Jane's stomach, felt the sinewy muscles stretch as she breathed in and out. Her hand roamed, fingers exploring familiar and permanent marks etched into the skin under her touch. She knew almost every single one of those scars; she had after all tended to most of them over the past thirteen years.

The citizens of District 8 saw very little of Jane Rizzoli in the year after her brother was killed in the Games. She withdrew, locked herself away in the tiny hovel of an apartment down in the projects. But, on the one-year anniversary of Frankie's death she reemerged. That was the first time she took part in the fights at Sean Cavanaugh's. She had bested Ricky Centerino with ease, pounded his face mercilessly and his ego even more. The little structured outlet of the ring wasn't enough and she had continued to berate and harass Ricky with fervor as he nursed his wounds with a bottle of Pete's brew. Jane took the full brunt of the swinging beer bottle with her bare side, the glass shattering and carving jagged lacerations across her ribs.

Maura ran her hand over the scars. Patterned like the gnarled twigs of a barren tree in winter they streaked several inches across Jane's ribcage. That was the first time Jane had come to her as apothecary.

_I hear you take care of this kind of thing now_. Jane winced as she spoke, hand gripping her wadded up stained and sweaty shirt to her side where the blood was already beginning to seep through.

Maura stood in the doorway of her apartment completely dumbfounded. She had honed her apothecary skills throughout her teen years, but only in the last few months since she had moved out of her parents' apartment over the factory and into her own small studio near the shop where she was wrapping up her apprenticeship had anyone actually started to seek out her services. None of the other apothecaries in the district risked their freedom to obtain black market medical supplies. When word got out that Maura did people began to show up on her doorstep.

_Not many people trust me yet for anything other than sickness remedies._ As soon as she said it she wished she hadn't. Jane was a victor. She could very well afford the real doctor or one of the more well known apothecaries. Maura didn't want her to go elsewhere, but she had just given her a reason to.

Jane limped past her anyway. _I didn't ask what other people think. I asked if you can take care of this._

Maura helped Jane to the sofa and guided her to lie down. _Yes, I can take care of you_.

Her stitching had improved markedly over the years. She traced Jane's wounds in chronological order. The bottle swipe scars wouldn't be nearly as noticeable if Jane had come with the same injury in the present. Both hands now on Jane's body she abandoned any attempt to keep her touch light. Her thumbs massaged into supple flesh as her touch roamed over Jane's stomach and ribs, across her breasts and over her chest.

"What's going on in that big brain of yours?" Jane said groggily with a smile as she opened her eyes.

Maura's fingers immediately fell back to the most prominent scars, which she had tended over the years. What was visible was only the tip of the iceberg, but a fraction of all of the soft tissue injuries that eventually faded into invisibility. Yet, those memories were no less fresh. "I was thinking how much it pained me every time you came to me hurt…and how all of those memories will pale in comparison to…"

Jane stopped her before she could finish, hands flying to grasp Maura's face and pull her into a frantic kiss, a kiss so dominating and impassioned Maura gasped, eyes closed and panting when Jane finally released her. "Remember that instead," Jane demanded.

Maura's fingers traced over Jane's lips, "I want to remember that kiss…all of your kisses and every touch while I look into your eyes for the last time knowing that you'll be walking out of the arena again."

Jane sat up shaking her head, "I will not leave that arena without you. And we both know that's not how this works. Please…Maura. Please just understand why it has to be you."

* * *

><p>Maura fidgeted with the spandex training tunic and pants and wiggled her toes in clunky, unsightly black boots.<p>

"You'll want to put your hair up," Jane offered and Maura nodded. Jane turned her attention to Korsak who was waiting patiently for Jane to ask so that he could finally offer some kind of information. He had learned over the years that there was no point in trying to force anything on Jane Rizzoli. Yet, her seeming absolute refusal to consider that he might have useful information to offer had begun to concern him. They locked eyes; he arched his eyebrows and continued to wait.

"Fine," Jane sighed, "What can you tell me about the other victors."

"Why Jane, I thought you'd never ask," he replied with dripping sarcasm. "The Careers are naturally the biggest threat. Ian Faulkner from 1 and Casey Jones from 2 were both brutal in their games. They'll secure their supplies and then they will go on the offensive. Both districts reaped female tributes in their twenties, they're young and no doubt in excellent physical shape. Just because they weren't reaped in a traditional year doesn't mean they haven't been trained for this."

The Careers. Jane loathed them. Ian Faulkner. She remembered him; he won the Games two years before her. Equally proficient in both hand-to-hand combat and from a distance with a spear. Casey Jones, he was the year directly before her. The battle axe had been his weapon of choice and Jane could still recall the images of his face dripping in the bloody castoff from the other tributes he had slain. He didn't even try to wipe it away.

"Four?" She asked. District 4 often teamed up with 1 and 2 in the Games.

"A bit of luck there," Korsak continued. "The reaped victor is Mags, she's old and in all likelihood the Careers won't be interested in her dead weight. I'd be surprised if she makes it out of the Cornucopia. The same goes for Wiress from 3, she's nearly completely senile these days and I'd be shocked if she makes it much past the starting siren."

_Small favors_, Jane thought, geriatric and senile victors presented at least a slightly reduced level of threat. Though, the non-victor tributes weren't to be ignored. Several districts had reaped young tributes to accompany their victors. They would be strong and motivated. Jane recalled a particularly formidable looking tribute from District 6 at the Opening Ceremony. District 6 specialized in transportation manufacturing – it was where most of the Capitol's hovercraft were built. She had heard his stylist call him Giovanni. He was tall, with powerful arms indicative of his daily manual labor. The Careers would likely target any physically adept challengers that could pose a threat to them early on while they were still strong and fresh. She could only hope that the Careers and Giovanni would clash and eliminate each other. Though, it was equally likely they might bring him into the fold…at least in the beginning.

"Blight from District 7 is a total wildcard," Korsak threw out as he continued to brief her. "He's always been friendly and has forged good relationships with Career and non-Career tributes. In the scheme of alliances I don't know if he will align or with whom."

Alliances. Jane didn't really care who aligned with whom. They were useless to her.

Korsak paused for a moment while Jane seemed to soak it all in before he wrapped up, "Rondo from 11…I'd consider him a non-issue. He'll probably get away from the Cornucopia as fast as possible and play like you…avoiding everyone until he absolutely has to. When it comes down to it, he's not a threat in a physical sense. Eleven's non-victor tribute is interesting however…besides you Jane, he's the only other volunteer."

That caught Jane's attention. No one in the poor districts ever volunteered. "What do you know about him?" Jane asked.

"Not much," Korsak shrugged. "Name's Barry Frost. His twelve-year old cousin was reaped and he volunteered in her place."

The story caught Maura's ear as well, enough to make her stop fidgeting with anything in reach and focus on the conversation. She knew Jane was dead set against making any alliances with other tributes; but, this Frost – he had done exactly what Jane had done. They shared something – a selfless bravery that no other tributes could claim.

"Last, but certainly not least," Korsak shook his head and could barely contain the chuckle that bubbled out, "Haymitch Abernathy from 12."

"Good Lord," Jane rolled her eyes, "It'll be a miracle if he doesn't stumble drunk off the platform and blow himself to bits before the siren sounds."

A drunk or sober Haymitch were no odds Korsak would take. They had become friends over the years, drinking buddies of a sort each year at the Games. However, where Korsak knew to lay down the flask, Haymitch did not. But, Haymitch was no fool and he'd won the Second Quarter Quell with twice the number of tributes by out-thinking them. If he was sober, Haymitch's mind was as big a threat as any Career's sword.

"The non-victor from 12?" Jane asked.

Korsak's face fell, "The youngest reaped. Her name is Madge…she's…" He knew the revelation of Madge's history would resonate with Jane. He knew Jane would want to protect her, to spare her mother the same pain Angela had suffered for fourteen years. Yet, in the end he also knew that Jane's sole priority was Maura. "…she's the Mayor's daughter. Her aunt Maysilee was reaped in the Second Quarter Quell with Haymitch."

Maura's hand settled knowingly on Jane's back.

Jane closed her eyes, "Another family…destroyed."

* * *

><p>The training gymnasium was vast and steel grey, cold and ominously spotless. It reminded Maura of the small examination room in her apartment when she tried to wash away the signs of failure. Yet, no amount of cleaning solvent could erase the stench of death that she could swear lingered for days after. That was what the gymnasium reminded her of.<p>

Atala, the Head Trainer prepped them all on the various stations, some focused on survival skills, others on combat.

"I'm going to focus on the plants station," Maura whispered to Jane as the tributes began to break off from the group, most of them heading towards the weapons.

Jane nodded, "All the victors know my proficiency with knives. Time to show them I'm just as sharp as I was seventeen years ago."

As Maura headed towards the plants station she realized it was the first time they had really separated since they were pulled apart in the Justice Building after the Reaping. She couldn't help but watch Jane over her shoulder as she walked until she barreled square into the back of Barry Frost.

"I…I'm sorry!" Maura stammered. She winced as she apologized; she knew immediately Jane would not approve of anything that could be mistaken as weakness. Where kindness was a strength in her healing endeavors, it was an obvious point of disadvantage in the arena.

Frost smiled. His face, his eyes in particular, were warm and inviting. That didn't surprise Maura; this was after all, the man who had volunteered to keep his young cousin out of the arena. "I'm Frost."

"I know," Maura smiled in return. "You volunteered."

He nodded and looked past Maura to where Jane was inspecting an array of daggers, "That gives your district and my district something in common."

* * *

><p>"Well, well," Casey Jones chuckled as Jane approached. "If it's not the prodigal daughter of District 8."<p>

"I don't think that word means what you think it means," Jane retorted, examining the various knives and testing their weight. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to see Casey purse his lips and steel his jaw at the insult.

"How is life in District 8 these days, Jane? Treating you well?" Ian stepped into the conversation. "We've been worried about you…thought maybe after Frank…"

With lightning fast quickness Jane held a blade to Ian's throat, "If I were you, I wouldn't let my brother's name find its way to your tongue ever again. That is…if you'd like to keep that tongue."

"Wow, that's hot," an unknown voice drifted in past the clump of careers.

Jane cocked an eyebrow and looked to her left to see the smirking face of the tribute from District 6, the one she'd heard called Giovanni.

She lowered her blade from Ian's throat, "Life in District 8 is just swell. Naturally, I've had plenty of time to throw knives. The underground bare-knuckle boxing ring has its benefits as well." Jane let six daggers fly in rapid succession, landing them all in the center bullseye of the target.

* * *

><p>Various tributes had come and gone from the plants station, but Maura remained there for nearly the entirety of the first day of training. She knew plants. She knew what they could be used for – that they could save your life or take it just as easily.<p>

Jane sidled up to her and watched with concern as Maura whispered to herself, picking up the various plant samples repetitively, rubbing them between her fingers, smelling them and occasionally tasting them.

"I've uh…" Jane paused, Maura had barely seemed to take notice of her, completely consumed by her task…whatever that happened to be. "…finished with my weapons practice for today. We could check out one of the other stations?"

Maura held up a small branch populated with numerous thorns, grayish-green leaves, yellow flowers and seed pods. "Gum acacia," she announced without looking at Jane. "The leaves are edible, the gum expressed by the trunk can be used medicinally for skin inflammation or respiratory ailments."

She set it aside and lifted a large fruit gourd, "Pulp of the baobab fruit is highly nutritious…the bark of its water-logged trunk virtually fireproof."

"Various types of grasses…" Maura pointed to the different bunches before selecting one, she finally turned to Jane and pinched the single blade between her thumb and forefinger and pulled it quickly. When she opened her fingers blood trickled from lacerations on her fingertips. "Elephant grass…razor sharp. Nearly impenetrable."

Jane tapped her foot impatiently and reached for another plant, "And this…"

"No!" Maura barked, grabbing her hand before she took hold of the strange cactus-like, yet woody branch. "Candelabra. The sap will blister the skin and blind you if it comes in contact with your eyes. Fumes from the sap can burn your lungs."

"Maura, this is all very fascinating but we should move to another station."

Maura looked at her resolutely and whispered, "Jane…I know what the arena will be."

* * *

><p>The second day of training proceeded much as the first had. Jane focused primarily on the weapons stations while Maura tended to the survival lessons. After several hours the lunch banquet was brought in and the tributes abandoned their practice to eat. The Careers, like they did year after year ate together. Though they had picked up some additions: the teenage boy from District 3 as well as Giovanni from District 6. Blight, absent from the first day had chosen to forego the second day of training as well. Haymitch, who had also skipped the first day, had elected to show up for the second day of training, though he spent much of it guzzling from a flask he made no effort to hide from the watchful eyes of the Gamemakers in the balcony, nor the training assistants on the floor.<p>

Several long tables were brought in to seat them for lunch. The Careers and their lackeys occupied one of them. Jane watched the scowling visage of Stanley, the non-victor tribute from District 9, become embroiled in his luncheon ritual. He carried several plates so that the food did not touch and when he sat he arranged and rearranged his cutlery with obsessive compulsion before finally eating.

Madge seemed positively lost as she held her tray and surveyed the other seated tributes, eventually sitting alone, down the table from Jane and Maura. Jane contemplated approaching her, asking her to sit with them. She couldn't. Couldn't allow herself any sympathy for that wisp of a girl. Madge would be no use to her in the arena and if the moment came and she had to slit her throat, she didn't want memories of jovial lunchtime conversation to slow her blade.

A loud clatter of metal on the table in front of her snapped Jane's eyes forward.

Haymitch Abernathy swung his leg over the bench seat and sat directly across from her, "Hello sweetheart." He laughed heartily as he took a swig from his flask. The damn thing had to have been forged from magic, Jane thought, it seemed to provide a never-ending sate of booze for the haggard tribute from 12. "Or should I say, sweethearts," he added with a wink towards Maura.

"Don't call me sweetheart," Jane growled.

"Oooh!" Haymitch held up his hands as he laughed, "Now, now…don't get all worked up and start flinging knives at me. Save it for the arena."

"I intend to," Jane spat.

Haymitch laughed amidst a mouthful of food and looked at Maura as he pointed his fork at Jane, "She always this serious?" He smiled as Maura looked to Jane and then back at him, her brow furrowed as if she didn't know what to make of him. "You'd think we were about to be thrust into a fight to the death or something!"

"Is this a joke to you?" Jane suddenly wondered how Korsak had ever been friendly with the pathetic drunkard in front of her. "Do you want to die?"

"Do you?" The corner of Haymitch's mouth turned up in a sneer. He nodded towards the other tributes, "Do they?" Jane sat silently.

"Listen here…sweetheart…" Haymitch accentuated the word. "No one here wants to die. Like it or not, twenty-three of us will. Only one will live. And what would I do if it were me? Go back to District 12 and continue to drink myself into oblivion staring out the window of my big, Capitol-provided mansion at the coal dust-filled skies of my district prison. But, chances are…" he looked over towards the Careers, "…one of them will be the one to go home."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Jane replied indignantly.

Haymitch shoveled a few more bites of food in his mouth and then placed his fork on the half-eaten plate. He smiled as he stood, "To the last…" he replied with yet another wink, lurching forward a few steps until he turned. "And give Vince my regards."


	10. Memories of Blue

**Author's Note: **Fast turn around on an update for this one. Thank you for all the comments so far; I really appreciate all of the reviews and hearing what you have to say about how these two universes are blending together. I'll now offer a preemptive apology: life gets a little crazy for the next week or so and I don't know how much time I'll have to write so it may be a little bit before there's another update. Never fear though, I will return with Jane and Maura in the arena…wait…maybe you should fear.

**CH 10: Memories of Blue**

Jane closed her eyes and let the steam envelope her as the water plowed her hair forward in front of her face. It was heavy, hanging in front of her eyes like a thick black curtain, but the water also spread it around her shoulders and partially onto Maura's and she liked the sensation of the pulsing massage from the water and the ticklish feel of her saturated tresses as they dragged across her skin.

Maura didn't say anything. She panted as Jane's arm gripped her even tighter from behind and around her waist, a strong and coarse hand sliding up her soap and bath oil slicked body to palm at her breast. Water sprayed across the stall as Jane shook her head and her mop of hair slapped against Maura's arm as she cleared it from her path, allowing her to press her lips and tongue to the pulse in Maura's neck.

Panting turned into moaning and Jane moved her lips to the shell of Maura's ear as she felt her lover come with body-shaking force to her ministrations. Maura lurched forward and plastered herself to the cool tile wall. Jane remained flush against her back, hands caressing up Maura's sides and over her breasts until, having regained her composure, Maura turned and they embraced.

"I've got you," Jane whispered. "I always have."

Maura let her head fall to the shoulder in front of her and listened to the water beat down on the hard surface around them. If she closed her eyes, it sounded exactly like rain in District 8. There were very little soft surfaces to absorb a droplet's blow as it plummeted from the sky there. Rain fell almost exclusively on concrete, brick and metal. It was loud. Depending on what building you were in it could be almost deafening. But, in a strange way, she had always liked the rain. It cut the smoke from the air and gave a taste, however small of what it might be like to live free of the factories' shadows. And the sound…she loved the sound of rain, because it was the only thing that could drown out the monotonous slavery of the district. As a child she would sneak away, climb to the roof of the building and sit prostrate to the gloomy sky until she was soaked and shivering, just letting the water create a fantasy of what it might be like to live in another world.

But, the real reason the rain held such a fondness in her heart…it was on a rainy day she first remembered seeing Jane.

Maura smiled through the memory of pervasive grey and pulled back out of their desperate embrace. Her hands reached for Jane's face and raked through her hair, pushing it back behind her ears. "I just thought about the first time I remember seeing you."

A smirk crept across Jane's face, she tilted her head and regarded Maura with intrigue, "When was that?"

"We were seven," Maura began. "School had been in session for at least two hours and it was the third straight day of rain. I was having a terrible time concentrating. I had the seat by the window in Mrs. Gerritsen's class and for the first time all year I couldn't stop myself from staring mindlessly out of it. I don't even know what the lesson was; all I could hear was the rain. And though my eyes were open and I must have been simply staring at the foot traffic along the street, in my mind I was somewhere else entirely: a beautiful, lush forest where I was sheltered from the seasonal downpour under a dense canopy of leaves. I still remember that."

"Are you going to tell me I was in this daydream?" Jane prodded.

Maura smiled and shook her head, "I heard the other students laughing and I turned my head and there you were…you'd come busting in the door of our classroom, sopping wet, looking like one of the factory cats the children used to toss in the cleaning tubs for a laugh. You were positively bedraggled!" She chuckled at the memory.

Jane stood in the doorway, gasping for air, her black curls soaked and dripping on the floor. Her father's jacket, too big on a dry day sagged and being water logged must have weighed almost as much as she did. Jane stripped it off but it had done little to protect her clothes underneath. She scanned the classroom amidst the giggles and snickers. _I'm late. _ Mrs. Gerritsen turned from the chalkboard and deftly shuffled the stick of chalk over and under each finger down and back again. She reached up and pulled her glasses down the bridge of her nose until they were hanging by a thread on the tip. _You're also in the wrong class. _

"Ha!" Jane exclaimed, "That's the first memory you have of me?"

"Mmhmm," Maura nodded as she lifted up on her toes to delicately kiss her love.

"And…" Jane smiled, "…you've been in love with me ever since?"

With a deftly arched eyebrow, Maura tried to maintain a charade of dismissal at the suggestion, "I was seven…I didn't know what love was."

Jane arched her eyebrow in turn, rendering Maura into a ball of laugher. She regained herself and ran her hand down Jane's cheek, "And I've been…drawn to you ever since."

"I remember that day," Jane pulled Maura in closer as she began the story, her fingers finding purchase in their emotional anchor along the scars of Maura's back. "Pop got a call to Factory 11 that morning…remember 11? It used to produce socks mostly, some undergarments…small things. The machinery was old and socks or underwear had a habit of getting stuck in various places along the conveyor route. Pop hated those calls. Because there were only two ways to deal with a jam in those machines: either you could fish the lodged item out manually or you had to take the whole damn machine apart. And if you took it apart…well, you had to put it back together, every bolt, screw, cog and gear."

"Ah," Maura's face lit up with understanding, "You were late because you went to help him. That's why you were wearing that oversized coat."

Jane pulled her hands from Maura's back and held them up, "Little hands, he said that morning when he shook me awake. Come lend me some little hands." It seemed so long ago. How easily she could slip her hand, her whole arm up into the bowels of the machine until it met its target, twisted and knotted in the gears. It had been terrifying the first time. What if the machine turned back on? Her father assured her it would not. She doubted she'd even thought of that day any day since, but somehow as soon as Maura said it the memory flooded back. Memories of her Pop were like that, they seemed dormant until some trigger urged them back to the surface.

Maura's fingers tap-danced down Jane's collarbone, "What's your first memory of me?"

"Easy," Jane chuckled and then closed her eyes and hummed, "I can still see it perfectly."

"What?" Maura asked cupping Jane's face.

Jane opened her eyes, "The blue dress you wore the very first day of school, when we all had to meet in Assembly before they assigned us our classrooms. The…" she brought her hand to her neck, "…white, ruffled collar. Little cap sleeves…a satin sash that tied around back in a big bow and a sort of poofy skirt trimmed in white."

"Oh my," Maura shook her head, "I remember that dress…"

" I thought," Jane continued, "you were the prettiest thing in that dress that I had ever seen in my life."

Maura bit down on her lip as she smiled, but then her voice turned somber, "Everyone in my class made fun of me. They said I thought I was from the Capitol…that I thought I was better than all of them. The dress was a reject from my parents' factory; it didn't make it past quality control. My mother could buy the rejects reduced and she'd work on them at home at night to fix the flaws."

Jane took Maura lightly by the chin and lifted her face as she kissed her cheek, "To this day…when you wear that color…I always think of the little angel in the blue dress that made me not afraid of my first day of school."

* * *

><p>The serenity and stillness brought on by the early morning shower had long since faded when the third day of training reached its zenith. All of the tributes were ushered out of the gymnasium to wait their turn to be called in individually in order to demonstrate their best skills for the Gamemakers.<p>

Korsak had explained it all to Maura. The Gamemakers would score them one through twelve. A higher score signaled the Gamemakers' evaluation that a particular tribute would be a worthy opponent in the arena. The scores would factor in to how the Capitol's citizens bet on the games…and also in to sponsorship.

Sponsors. Jane rolled her eyes. Seventeen years ago she'd walked into the Gamemakers' training session and stood with absolute defiance and refusal to lift a single weapon. They had watched her throughout the previous training, what did this custom prove? They had scored her a four, one of the lowest for that year, and she had garnered not a single sponsor while in the arena. Though nothing about her victory was sweet, she had emerged with the foolhardy satisfaction that she'd done it all on her own. The Quell was entirely different. If Maura was right about the arena it was going to be rugged and hard and the tributes would be brutal and merciless. This time she would need sponsors.

They started with District 1 as they always did, this year, victor first and then non-victor. It wasn't long before Jane was called. She squared her shoulders, nodded to Maura and strode back into the gym.

The raucous laughter and conversations of the Gamemakers' died to a near silence as she entered. She could feel the cold and vacant eyes of Head Gamemaker Gabriel Dean on her. She glanced up at his emotionless face. It reminded her of how Head Peacekeeper Patrick Doyle's face used to affect her back in District 8. It filled the room with a sense of foreboding and a feeling of absence as if morality had no toehold behind their eyes.

Jane brought her hand to her chest and felt the ring on the slim chain that hung around her neck through the fabric of her training suit. That feeling had been how she used to feel looking at Patrick Doyle. That had changed. She didn't expect the same to be the case with Dean.

The gym was set up just as she had asked. Multiple targets were spaced about the room and a table awaited her laid out with a plethora of throwing knives. Jane wasted little time. She met the table with purpose and resolve and with a single deep breath unleashed the blades in rapid succession, finding the center of all of her targets with sureness and steadiness of hand. Her eyes flashed to the balcony, Dean rested on the railing, his face unchanged. The other Gamemakers, clad in purple robes, hands full of food and drink seemed for the most part unimpressed.

She eyed them. Throwing knives was probably the least impressive of the weaponry arts tributes would display; she knew that. It was why she always liked the dagger. People underestimated its lethality. Underestimation could be capitalized upon; the smallness of the dagger's size could be made huge by a disregard for its skilled use.

"I'd have an apple," Jane called out.

A silence filled the gym that nearly sucked every ounce of air from it as the Gamemakers gasped and abandoned their conversations and revelry to look out over the railing at her. Tributes did not ask things of the Gamemakers.

Gabriel Dean chuckled under his breath and snapped his fingers at one of the mute Avox slaves attending their banquet, "She'd have an apple."

Jane caught the fruit that was tossed to her, tested its weight in her hand and then lobbed it in a high arc forward towards the balcony. At its highpoint she loosed a dagger and sent the impaled fruit flying a mere inch over the Head Gamemaker's head to the floor behind him.

Perhaps she had ruined her chances, but the satisfaction that simmered in her chest seemed more than worth it for the moment. With a patronizing bow, Jane smiled at the looks of shock that stared back at her and replied, "Thank you, for your consideration."

Outside the gym her arms reached for Maura and grasped her firmly around the back of her head, "Whatever happens…it's ok," Jane reassured her, "I won before without sponsors."

Maura nodded and heeded Atala's call for her. She glanced over her shoulder in the moment before she crossed the gym's threshold to see Jane staring back at her.

In the gym she could see the table laid out for her: all of the plants and a few other items from the survival stations. Maura looked up, Gabriel Dean stood motionless, his hands wrapped around the railing of the balcony as he watched her walk. A fury boiled within her, set her insides on fire. It was the first time she felt so compelled to pick up a weapon of cold steel. If she had any skill with a spear or an axe she wouldn't have trusted herself not to launch it into that balcony. _Launch it into the balcony_…the fantasy repeated itself in her mind. Maura glanced at the poor, innocent bleating goat chained to a heavy cinder block she had requested and then to the table of plants and up towards the Gamemakers.

Suddenly, her hands had a mind of their own, a direction completely independent of conscious thought. She selected the candelabra, housed safely in a plastic bag. After affixing a ring of acacia thorns around the plastic, she inserted a small dagger into the bag and gutted the plant, releasing its toxic, white sap. The flint provided easily ignited a tuft of Bermuda grass, which she quickly stuffed in the sack with the candelabra and blessed with a deep breath until the sack puffed out like a small balloon. A few final strands of grass secured the bag tightly.

Gabriel Dean cocked his head and watched with fascination. For the most part the other Gamemakers seemed to be spiraling towards drunken indifference.

Maura waited, waited for the smoldering grass to light the flesh of the candelabra and its sap as the fumes from its burning expanded the bag even more. With that, she chucked the homemade bomb into the balcony. It hit the ground just behind Dean where the plastic pressed into one of the acacia thorns and burst the bubble…releasing, fanning the flames with new oxygen and bursting into a smoke cloud of toxic gas.

Dean pulled his cloak quickly to his face as his fellow evaluators began to choke and hack as the noxious air filled their lungs. Some ran for the exit, others collapsed writhing to the floor; at least one lurched toward the railing and retched over the edge.

For her part, Maura stood stoic, taking no visible pleasure in their suffering but evidencing no fear or remorse at her actions. They wouldn't die. Sadly.

"My demonstration is concluded," Maura called out coldly. From under his robe, Dean's hand emerged and waved her out.

* * *

><p>The walk from the room was calm, but as soon as she cleared the doors and they shut behind her Maura ran for the elevator and collapsed inside. Maybe she hit the button for 8 herself or perhaps Atala or one of the Avoxes did, but nonetheless the next thing she remembered were the doors opening on floor 8 and Jane…<p>

She couldn't remember how she got out of the elevator but when she awoke she was cradled in Jane's arms on the sofa in the main sitting room of their suite. As the world around her came into focus she noticed they weren't alone…her feet were in Cinna's lap and he squeezed them and smiled warmly.

"I'm sorry…" Maura whispered as she looked up at Jane.

Korsak approached them and handed her a glass of warm tea, "What are you sorry for?"

Maura sat up and curled into Jane's side as she let the tendrils of steam waft up from the cup of tea and lick at her face. "I've ruined us. We'll never get any sponsors. I…I just got so angry!"

Everyone was silent; they kept waiting for Maura just to come out with it. She brought the mug to her lips and drew slowly on the steaming liquid before closing her eyes and speaking, "I threw a candelabra gas bomb into the Gamemakers' balcony. It wasn't lethal…"

Effie gasped and covered her mouth.

Maura turned to Jane, tears streaking down her face, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking. We'll never get sponsors now!"

The reaction wasn't at all what she had expected. Jane laughed and pressed her lips to the salty streams of tears that were dripping down her cheeks, "Good for you," Jane whispered against her skin.

Korsak groaned and stroked his goatee, "Oh my."

Jane's head fell back with a thud as she laughed. All eyes focused on her. She looked into Maura's eyes and wiped at her tears with her thumbs, "I threw a dagger at Gabriel Dean's head."

"You did WHAT!" Effie shrieked.

"Don't worry, Effie," Jane swore, "the apple I threw ahead of it absorbed the blow."

"Well," Effie countered with surprisingly quickly reasserted calm, "Sadly they tend to ignore the tributes from the poorer districts. It's a shame really. They should give everyone equal due. You ARE a victor after all."

All eyes were trained on Effie. It was the last thing Jane had expected her to say. Effie, who had been all about manners and making her feel like a barn sow since the moment they stepped on the train in District 9 had just…stuck up for her.

"That's…" Effie paused and noted the eyes that had settled on her, "that's just what I think."

Maura had slept clean through dinner and at that moment the television in the sitting room turned on. The score report would be momentarily displayed.

It seemed an eternity until Jane's face flashed on the screen. The Capitol had selected the most unflattering photo possible. She looked hard and weathered. A solid 9 score appeared.

Korsak guffawed and lifted his glass, "Well, it's no 4 like the last time!"

A 9. Jane smiled. The Careers usually scored in the 8 to 10 range. Everyone else was lucky to average a 5.

Maura's face appeared next and everyone froze. Her hand clamped down on Jane's. At first it seemed like a dream, it couldn't possibly be…but all of the clapping and cheering made her regard the number as if it was truly real.

"11" Maura muttered in disbelief.

* * *

><p>"You still look concerned," Jane sat on the bed next to her and clasped her hands over Maura's. "They won't punish us…it's too late to replace us at this point. Plus, we made such a huge impression at the Opening Ceremony."<p>

"It's not about that," Maura replied, her voice so soft it was barely more than a thought on a lilting breeze.

Jane pulled the bed covers up and slid under them. This was all she longed for each passing moment of the day, the time when she and Maura, stripped down to nothing could lie in absolute reverence of one another for a few meager hours.

"What's it about, then?" she let her weight press down on Maura, cover her, wrap her up in a familiar comfort in an effort to show her that she was not alone. Whatever waking nightmare she was battling, they would face it together.

Hazel eyes welled with tears, "I hurt them, Jane. I used everything I've ever learned about medicine to hurt them."

"They all lived," Jane cooed as she gathered Maura into her arms, "No worse for wear. The day after tomorrow those same men will deliver us to hell and cheer as tribute after tribute falls broken, bloody and savaged to the ground."

"I don't hurt people," Maura whispered between stifling sobs.

Jane was physically as close to her as she could be, arms wrapped around and clutching her close, legs tangled together, lips kissing and whispering soothing dismissals against remorseful skin. The contact was so far from enough, the feeling of emptiness swelled within her. She wished she could melt into Maura, liquefy and leach through her skin and into her very being so as to impart even the smallest iota of callous disregard for the fate of the Gamemakers and their fellow tributes.

She couldn't do that. Not physically and not by choice even if she could. For to do that was to corrupt the very essence of who Maura was. The woman in her arms had lived a life devoted to helping others live against all odds. Now, they were faced with the scenario of having to kill others in order for themselves to live against the odds. Jane couldn't ask Maura to understand that now. Only the arena could show her that some people weren't worth saving.

Maura's eyes fluttered as Jane's fingertips mapped every inch of her face until warm lips pressed against her own.

Jane reached for the controls by the side of the bed and dimmed the lights, "Let me tell you a story…"

Maura chuckled, "That would be nice."

Silent moments passed as Jane massaged Maura's neck and torso, waiting until she felt the frame under her ministrations finally begin to let go of the earlier trauma and relax. "I don't think I've told you what I did when I finally discovered your name…"


	11. Words Unspoken

**CH 11: Words Unspoken**

"I maintain I should be prepping you separately!" Effie huffed and tapped the gilded tip of her pen exasperatedly against her notebook.

"Maura and I are a team. We train together; we prep together. Besides," Jane paused, arching a cocky eyebrow, "there's very little you can tell me about a Caesar Flickerman interview that I don't already know. So, think of the two-for-one as saving yourself four wasted hours of 'coaching' me alone."

Effie's nostrils flared as she took a deep breath and released it slowly. It occurred to Jane, if she were indeed successful in getting Maura out of the arena alive, Effie would well have earned the promotion for dealing with her.

There was one benefit in the prep time to being a victor: Effie made the assumption that due to her previous experience Jane would know how to wear a dress and walk in heels. The stylists always put the women in dresses and heels for the interviews. As a seventeen year old from District 8, the first time around had been the first time attire of that type had ever been handed to her. Jane felt gawky enough without the fancy get up. In it, her legs had a mind of their own and absolutely nothing about her presentation was pretty or graceful. So, Gaia Baldrick drilled her over and over again for hours until her walk was passable. That's what Gaia had called it.

_Sigh._ She waved her hand signaling Jane to stop. _It's…passable. It will just have to do. I'm an escort after all, not a miracle worker. Besides, you're from 8. The viewers won't expect much, just don't fall on your face._

Jane had completely zoned out as Effie focused her attentions primarily on Maura. Maura didn't need to be taught to look feminine or walk in heels either, but somehow Effie managed to fill hour after endless hour with preparatory mumbo jumbo.

"Jane…."

No matter how much she tried to block it all out, it always seemed like just yesterday. The bright lights of the stage, how hot they felt cascading down from the rafters of the set…like standing in front of a hot oven with the door open: that seemingly innocent heat that doesn't feel so bad at first but builds and builds and builds until drops of perspiration begin to dot your skin, accumulate, and drip. Caesar prattled on, with his odd colored hair, it was chartreuse that year, and his plush suit and that wide cackling grin. Gaia Baldrick's words rang through her ears: _Try not to look like you just walked off the assembly line._ That line always stung, the disdain in Gaia's voice, the presumption. Jane had never worked an assembly line and if she hadn't been reaped she wouldn't be working on an assembly line like most of the rote factory workers in the district anyway. She'd be a maintenance man…like her father.

"Jane…"

And then the interview was over and she couldn't remember anything that she'd said. Only that she hoped the audience couldn't see her sweating, and that she'd done at least one thing right: she hadn't fallen on her face.

"Jane!"

"What!" Jane snapped back to reality and found Effie and Maura both staring at her.

"I swear…" Effie grumbled, "If I don't move up to at least District 4 next year…Have you been listening to a word I've been saying for the past four hours?" She threw her hands up in exasperation at Jane's silence. "Of course not. Well, fine. We're done. But perhaps since you're such an expert on these affairs, you'd care to offer Maura advice from your last experience."

Jane's lips pursed and crept into a sly smile and before she could really stop them the words just tumbled out, "Don't fall on your face."

* * *

><p>"So, I hear your session with Effie went well," Korsak poured himself a stiff drink and one for Jane and a glass of wine for Maura.<p>

"Vince, are you being facetious?" Maura answered with a breathy laugh from over her glass.

"Uh…" he paused and looked at Jane, who shook her head in confusion and then back to Maura.

"Facetious…using humor or levity at a time that might be considered inappropriate," Maura took a sip of her wine.

"Yeah…well, sure. Anyway, now that Effie's instructed you in the very important business of how to walk and twirl, let's get down to serious matters. Sponsors." Korsak had this knack for being able to switch from jovial old friend to serious mentor in a flash. This was one of those moments. "Needless to say, Jane. Your last trip to the arena wasn't exactly a master class in how to make people want to sponsor you. I thought maybe this time we'd actually try to woo the crowd…you know, play nice, make them like you."

"Good luck with that," Jane snorted under her breath.

Maura's hand fluttered softly on her cheek, "You're very likable."

"To you," Jane huffed.

Korsak slammed his drink down on the table, "That's just it! Don't you see! There's more than one kind of likable. You don't have to be saccharine or humorous or the girl next door. No one expects you to come in cocky and brazen like a Career. The citizens like all different kinds, you just have to resonate with them." He pointed at Maura, "This woman loves you! And you volunteered to come here to try and protect her. Do you think you're the only person in the history of humanity that's ever sacrificed for someone else? If you bring that to the viewers, Jane…you'll strike a chord in their hearts the way no tribute ever has and they'll love you for it."

_They'll love you for it._ Jane considered it, maybe he was right.

* * *

><p>A strange part of her wanted to be down on the street, basking in the crisp night air under fluorescent lights. Every street must look different, with new discoveries around each corner. She just wanted to see it all. She wanted to experience the aesthetic of the Capitol, just once before she died. Jane seemed so sure she was going to get her to the end. Reality told Maura this was her first and last trip to the Capitol.<p>

Maura reached out and closed her eyes, pretended she could feel the breeze blowing across the balcony. In reality the force field allowed only the temperature to be apparent.

It was a guilty feeling, wanting to experience the Capitol, because just under that desire was a gnawing hatred.

"What are you thinking about?" Maura startled as Jane walked up behind her and let her hands settle reassuringly on Maura's waist.

She didn't want to say. But, she couldn't lie. She never had been any good at lying. Once or twice she had tried, when she was younger. Her mother always saw right through it, or, at least it seemed that way. And she would hyperventilate and start to feel light headed until she just blurted out the truth. The dizzy nausea of lying felt so much worse than just being honest.

"It's embarrassing," Maura began. "I was imagining what it would be like to be down there. Free. In the Capitol. How I would just walk around and look at everything. I…I just want to see it."

Jane pressed her lips to Maura's neck and sighed as her arms wrapped more fully around the woman in front of her, "And why does that embarrass you?"

"It's so silly…and so trivial and…because I should hate them. I should want to see it all destroyed…the way they've destroyed our districts…the way they've destroyed us…" Maura closed her eyes and turned in Jane's arms.

"It is beautiful…" Jane murmured. She looked into Maura's eyes, "I don't want to see it destroyed. I used to. But, being here now…with you. Destroying it would seem like such a waste. And what would it accomplish? I wish…I wish this is what we had to go home to. We'd have some kind of plush, state of the art apartment suite over your dress shop…and everything would be beautiful."

A fantasy. A rare indulgence Maura hadn't allowed herself since those childhood days sitting on the roof of her apartment building in the rain. Her left arm wrapped around Jane's waist as her right interlaced with Jane's left. "Dance with me," Maura whispered into Jane's lips.

Jane let Maura begin to rock her hips, "But, there's no music."

Maura smiled and pressed her lips to Jane's, "Close your eyes, we're just two people on the balcony of our apartment listening to the slow couples' tune they play at all the festivals. Do you hear it now?"

Jane closed her eyes and let her body move to familiar notes that seemed to reach across the expanse all the way from District 8, "Yes, I hear it now."

* * *

><p>The morning was spent under the combs, powders and lotions of Cinna, Portia and the prep team. Every time Jane started to get twitchy she would redirect her attention to Maura and watch as the prep team transformed her. The first day when they had arrived she'd told her that she was already beautiful. She meant it. Yet, somehow under Portia's hands Maura was sculpted into a work of art. And then the dress.<p>

"Ready?" Portia asked as she began to pull the garment out of its bag. Maura nodded as the royal blue gown was revealed.

"No tears," Cinna whispered, swiping his thumb under Jane's eye. "You'll ruin your makeup."

"Sorry," Jane continued to watch as Maura was dressed. "It's just…that's my favorite color on her."

"Is that so?" Cinna asked with a wink and a smile. He reached for his own garment bag and unzipped it. "I know it's customary for women to wear dresses…" Inside the bag was a dark blue suit, of similar hue to Maura's dress but a few shades darker and a crisp white, silk shirt. "But, I thought you might be more comfortable in something like this."

Jane laughed and began to dress herself, "Thank you. The last time my interview was such a disaster, all I could think about was not falling in that crazy dress and worrying about if I was sweating like a factory worker. I'm not…I'm just not good at this…this making people like me. Effie says I'm rough, coarse and off-puttingly sullen and hostile."

Cinna smiled, checked the suit for fit, fluffed Jane's hair one last time and looked in her eyes, "You won't fall. No one will be able to see if you're sweating. And I don't believe you're bad at making people like you." He paused and looked over at Maura. "When you go out there, just remember why you're here…why you're really here. Let the audience feel what you feel."

* * *

><p>Caesar Flickerman, who had hosted the interviews for more than forty years, looked almost unchanged from when Jane had last seen him in person seventeen years ago. She had been sure his youthful longevity over the years was a trick of the camera broadcasts, but no, it was as if he truly never aged a day. Jane had seen what they could do in the Remake Center; certainly a celebrity like Caesar had access to even greater age-defying procedures.<p>

The interviews were insufferable. Each was only three minutes but it seemed like an eternity as Jane fought the urge to squirm. Maura's hand settled atop hers and helped her find stillness.

Ian and Casey adopted much the same tone as their previous interviews; they were brazen and self-assured and nearly had the female audience members swooning at their bravado. Korsak had been right: Mags and Wiress were but shells of their former selves. The non-victor from 6, Giovanni, played the humor card and whether genuine or not he had Caesar in stitches by the end of his three minutes. Jane couldn't help but wonder how affable he would be when the barbs thrown at him weren't words but blades of sharpened steel.

They were calling the non-victors first, so when Blight from District 7 was done with his curt and uncomfortable interview, Maura was introduced.

She stepped onto the stage and Jane could swear the audience lost their breath, under the lights of the stage the dress wasn't just a vibrant blue, it sparkled as if the fabric was spun from crystal and light.

"A vision!" Caesar exclaimed as he took her hand and led her to the interview chair.

Jane was transfixed, she could see Maura's lips move but her ears barely registered the words that came out. With almost every answer to Caesar, Maura looked at her and occasionally smiled.

"May I ask," Caesar began. Jane perked up. This was Caesar's modus operandi. The interview was nearly over and he always found a way to save some particular punchline for the end. He continued, "Your entrance, with your fellow tribute, Jane, in the opening ceremony made quite an impression, your hands clasped and tied together. And I can't help but notice you've looked over at her many times throughout our talk. Did you two know each other before you came here? Are you friends?"

This time, it wasn't Jane that Maura looked at, but Portia and Cinna, who nodded in response. She turned her attention back to her host, "Yes, Caesar, we knew each other. Friends…yes, well, we are…but we're more than that as well. May I stand?" Now it was Caesar, who for once was caught off guard as he nodded his assent.

Maura stood, turned her back to the audience and reached for a small tie at the high neck of the dress. A tie Jane hadn't even noticed before. She pulled it and the back of the dress fell away into tendrils of shimmering fabric and released a cloud of micro-fine glittering silver dust into the air. The crowd gasped and some cried out, not because of the beauty of the dress and the magic of the trick that Cinna and Portia had arranged but because Maura's back and all of her scars were now revealed.

She looked over her shoulder at Caesar. He clasped his hand to his mouth, "My dear!"

Maura turned and looked first to Jane, then the audience and then to Caesar, "Fourteen years ago I took a Peacekeeper's lashes that were meant for Jane. I protected her. It's what we've always done...in any way we knew how…protect each other. She volunteered to come here to try and protect me in the arena. I don't know how all of this will play out. At first I was angry that she was so willing to sacrifice herself for me, but now, I'm just thankful for every moment I get to spend with her."

Tears had welled up behind Caesar's eyes and he dabbed at them dramatically with a handkerchief as he took Maura's hand and presented her one last time to the awestruck and visibly moved crowd, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Maura Isles…District 8!"

Jane took the stage under a sensation of unbearable pressure. As they had been united the entire journey the interview was no different. They were playing the same card: their relationship, something the Capitol had never seen in the Games, in the hopes that it would garner sponsors.

"Well, Jane," Caesar began, having seemingly composed himself. "That was quite a revelation from your fellow tribute. Is it true?"

She took a deep breath and as the words began to flow she feared they might come out heated and filled with anger. Jane couldn't really even hear herself as she spoke; she noticed only the silent awe of the audience. "It is. We've always taken care of each other, even when we didn't even know each other very well, even when we didn't know we were helping each other. Sometimes…there's just that one person you're connected with. I volunteered for the Games because I couldn't let her come here alone, because I can't live without her. I'd rather die so that she can live." Her voice cracked as she said it, _I can't live without her I'd rather die so that she can live_. She looked at Caesar and then scanned the faces of the other tributes, "And I will do anything…and I mean anything to keep her from harm in the arena and to make sure she gets to go home." Her eyes settled on Ian and Casey. "Anything."

* * *

><p>Maura sat in the window seat of the living room and looked out at the bright night of the Capitol. It never slept. She doubted she would tonight either. Jane padded quietly to her and sat, resting her chin on Maura's knees as she looked out at the bustling city below them.<p>

"Tomorrow," Maura whispered.

Jane closed her eyes and shook her head, "Is not right now."

Maura reached for her and pulled her into a kiss, for all the impending anxiety and panic the kiss was gentle and tender. "Make love to me one more time," she whispered on the end of it.

With arms wrapped tightly around Maura, Jane summoned every bit of strength she had to fight the simmering tears and the desire to scream. _Tomorrow isn't right now. She's still yours for tonight._

Jane pulled Maura to the edge of the window seat and sank to her knees between Maura's legs, slowly sliding her pajama pants and underwear off and discarding them aside. Her fingertips grazed lightly back and forth over Maura's stomach and hips as she rested her cheek against Maura's thigh. Jane could feel hands threading through her hair, combing and massaging her scalp as the leg under her cheek moved to spread wider.

Maura guided Jane's mouth to her center and moaned softly at the contact. She was glad Jane had initiated it this way because as she neared climax, what realistically her heart told her would be her last night with Jane, a barrage of tears began to streak her face. She fought to hold in the sound of the sobs and focused instead on the sensation of Jane's lips around her and the rhythm of Jane inside her. Maura cried out as she came, the release tearing through her and rendering her incapable of hiding the crippling sorrow any longer. She cried, eyes tightly shut though the tears continued to shower her face until Jane was in her lap straddling her, enveloping her and she began to quiet.

"Please…please…" Jane pleaded, her hand under Maura's top pawed frantically at the skin of her back as the other tangled itself in Maura's hair. "Please don't cry. I'm…I'm barely holding it together myself."

Deep breath. And then another. Maura slowly regained control. Jane was right; tomorrow wasn't the present. She wouldn't let the sadness own them. Their lips met, breaking apart and then reconnecting as Jane maneuvered to shed her own undergarments. Maura reached between Jane's legs and stroked softly and slowly through her arousal until Jane's hand covered her and held her still.

"The first time…when I wouldn't let you," Jane pulled back so they could see each other as she ran her thumb over a tear-stained cheek. "I haven't let anyone touch me like that since…"

"It's ok, we don't have to…" Maura interrupted, leaning forward to again taste Jane's lips.

Jane shook her head, "I want to. I trust you." She guided Maura's fingers inside and let her forehead rest against her lover's as slow and tender strokes curled within her. Jane's head fell to Maura's shoulder as she came, burying her face in honey-scented hair until the last spasms had rolled through.

Maura smiled and let her cheek rest against Jane's as they traded cleansing breaths across needy skin. "I love you," Maura whispered. She felt Jane nod against her shoulder and kiss her neck. "And I know you love me, even if you can't say the words."

"Everyone I've ever loved has been taken from me," Jane lifted her head from Maura's shoulder and let it hang. "I know it doesn't make sense…" she looked in Maura's eyes, red from the tears that somehow made the gold flecks in the green even brighter. "I don't want to know what the words sound like…when I know I can't say them forever."

Slightly trembling hands cupped Jane's face and Maura placed an understanding kiss on her lips, "It's ok, Jane. I can hear them in your touch."

* * *

><p>Even Effie didn't eat at breakfast. The food sat until it grew cold. Korsak's untouched coffee cup was brimming from its first pour, though the dark circles and bags under his eyes cried out for him to drink it. Jane nibbled on some toast with a thin layer of jam, more to try and encourage Maura to eat than to sate her own hunger. Each bite made her want to run retching to the bathroom.<p>

The dreaded moment arrived as they all turned to see Cinna and Portia enter the suite. Their time with Effie and Korsak was over, only the stylists would accompany them to the Launch Room before they were sent into the arena.

Portia managed a smile but her voice was soft and quaked as she reached out her hand, "Maura, you have to come with me now."

Jane and Maura stood together and walked a few feet before Jane pulled her forcefully into an embrace. She brushed Maura's hair back behind her ear and kissed her, "Remember our signals for the start?"

She nodded, "You'll survey the arena and point which direction for me to run."

Jane nodded, "You run Maura. Don't worry about me; don't look back. You run…as fast as you can and don't stop until you can't run any longer. I'll get supplies and I will find you, ok?"

Maura took Portia's hand and headed towards the elevator, she wanted to look back but she could already feel the tears and she didn't want the last thing Jane saw before going into the arena to be her crying. The doors opened and as she was about to step in…

"Maura!" Jane yelled.

She turned as Jane swept her up into her arms. Her brown eyes burned and her lips quivered just enough to be noticeable. Maura let her fingers stroke with a skin-shivering lightness down each side of Jane's face.

"I love you," Jane whispered. "I love you. I'm sorry…I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner. I love you. I always have. And I always will…until my last breath."

Jane lowered her to the ground and kissed her with a furious passion, nails digging into Maura's scalp as they reluctantly separated. "Now you can go."


	12. Light and Dark

**Author's Note: **In this chapter the Games begin. There will be at times depictions of violence and death.

**CH 12: Light and Dark**

Maura rubbed lightly at the spot on her arm where the tracking chip had been injected. It didn't hurt really, more like the slight nuisance of a bug bite. The real burn was the stark reality of what it meant. The Hunger Games were truly about to begin.

She stared out the windows of the hovercraft as they made their way over the Capitol and beyond. Flying. It didn't feel half as exhilarating as she thought it might…if the destination were anywhere else than what it was. In fact, the ride was far smoother than the journey to the Capitol by train had been. An Avox brought selections of food from a breakfast spread to her but Maura waved them away. She knew she should eat, but somehow it seemed pointless – to stave off hunger for a few extra hours.

In short order they had left the Capitol behind and passed over forests that filled the expanse between mountains. The woods were different here; she'd noted the botanical changes on their train journey.

District 8 was virtually devoid of plant life. Yet, just outside the concrete maze and drab monoliths of the factories, along the railroad they had passed into dense woods of large leafy hardwoods: oak, maple, hickory, and walnut amongst others. Sparse and lanky pine trees were interspersed among the more robust looking trees. Life. Life she had only previously seen in pictures.

As they had traveled west things had changed. They came across a great stretch of land, flat and rolling with almost no trees. Mile after mile of endless tall grass that undulated, crested, and crashed like a great green and yellow ocean under the wind.

When the Capitol was near the forests again reappeared. The trees were thinner, for the most part, cottonwoods and aspen and so many different types of pine, fir and spruce. Snow-capped peaks dotted the rocky towers on the horizon. On the journey to the Capitol, she had thought of all the healing properties of the plants in those various woods.

_Blue spruce…Douglas fir….Quaking aspen…beautiful_. Maura catalogued the varieties in her head as the hovercraft sailed by. Anything to keep her mind off the destination. But then, the windows went black and she was left with nothing but her thoughts. The Arena. They were near.

* * *

><p>Jane took the plate of food Cinna offered and began to eat. Her earlier nausea had subsided and she recognized the necessity of sustenance. The view out the window held no allure; she'd seen it all before.<p>

"If I'm successful, you'll probably have your pick of districts next year," she bit into a jelly-filled pastry and wiped an errant dollop of strawberry jam from the corner of her mouth.

Cinna smiled and sat next to her, "Maybe I won't want another district…maybe I won't want any district at all."

Jane's brow furrowed, "But…you're a stylist. This is what you do."

"I requested your district, you know," he replied. "After the Reaping broadcast. After I saw you volunteer…I called Gabriel Dean to tell him I simply must have District 8."

"Why wouldn't you want to do it again?" Jane asked. She knew why she wouldn't want to do it again…but the Capitol citizens, they were usually different. It was truly all a game to them, or a career, or a way to make a name and earn accolades.

His face fell. Those green eyes that had sparkled with such life over the past few days had dulled. "It may be difficult for you to believe…I've never been so close to someone who…who…" He couldn't say it, but it was written plain as day across his face.

"Who has died," Jane finished. "Or, will die, I suppose." Cinna stared blankly forward with only a slight nod of affirmation.

"If I didn't know what you were going to do…and if I was allowed to wager, I'd bet on you to win again, Jane." Cinna placed his hand over hers.

"But, I will die," Jane stated with cold acceptance. "I asked Korsak how it is he comes back every year to mentor the tributes. He said someone has to be there to give them a fighting chance, to give them support, to give them hope. Don't quit, Cinna. Come back next year, request District 8. Give those kids what you gave to me and Maura – the feeling that somebody gives a damn. Do it as a favor to me."

Cinna squeezed her hand and looked in her eyes, a spark ignited and his green eyes looked alive again, "For you."

* * *

><p>Through the catacombs under the arena Maura was led by Portia to the Launch Room to be dressed. Jane and Korsak had called it the Stockyard, a place where animals are taken before slaughter; she supposed it was apropos...though still a fearfully gruesome colloquialism.<p>

Attire for the arena was selected by the Gamemakers. Portia helped Maura don the mottled khaki and drab spandex pants, a tank top undershirt and a light jacket that matched the pants.

"It's like…camouflage," Maura noted. It made sense, given her suspicions on the arena.

Portia ran her hands over the jacket's sleeve. "This material is designed to reflect the sun."

"I don't expect much shade," Maura replied as she slipped on the last bit of the ensemble, sturdy yet flexible leather boots that laced halfway up her shin.

"Every tribute is allowed a token to take into the arena, did you bring one?" Portia asked as she pulled Maura's hair back into a tight ponytail and secured it. Maura shook her head. The stylist stepped in front of her and smiled; reaching down the front of her corset she produced a long strip of white silk. "It's what Cinna bound your hands with for the Opening Ceremony, I thought, if you didn't have a token…"

Maura wiped an errant tear from the corner of her eye, she was determined that the audience would not see a tear-stained face when the Games began, "It's perfect."

Portia pushed the sleeve of the jacket up and wrapped the silk around Maura's arm, knotting it at her wrist. "It's time."

Maura stepped onto the pedestal in the Launch Room as a glass cylinder lowered around her. It began to rise, and just as Portia disappeared from sight she could swear she could see her stylist friend weeping. Darkness. Darkness was all around her as the tube ascended. Maura braced her hands against the glass and stiffened as if the bottom would drop out suddenly and deliver her into an unknown abyss.

An abyss was waiting for her, but not dark. The tube delivered her into blinding light as the glass gave way to the open air of the arena. Heat, terrible oppressive heat was the first sensation. When her eyes adjusted she looked out. It was just as she had feared: a vast grassland savannah, with no trees or cover for as far as the eye could see. Heat waves rippled on the horizon…a mirage. Black streaks that danced and bent far, far away. Maybe trees. The refracted light was displacing an image of something in the distance.

Announcer Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed through the arena, "Welcome to the 75th Hunger Games!"

The noise snapped Maura back to reality; she looked out at the other tributes all spaced equidistant from the Cornucopia. The sixty-second countdown had already begun. Sixty seconds, that's how long they were given to get their bearings before the gong sounded and they could go. Step off the platform sooner and the ground was loaded with active land mines. Maura looked for Jane and found her 5 pedestals away. They locked eyes and Jane gave the signal for Maura to run due south of her location. There was no better direction to run, no cover within sight. Running due south would get her away from the carnage of the Cornucopia with the least chance of encountering someone else.

3…2…1…Gong!

_You run Maura. Don't look back. You run…as fast as you can and don't stop until you can't run any longer._ She ran. _I will find you._ She filled her head with the sound of Jane's voice to muffle the screams from the bloodbath. _Jane wouldn't scream._ She ran, foot after foot pounding furiously into the ground as the tall grass slapped and clawed at her legs. _She will find you._

* * *

><p>Jane shielded her eyes as the pedestal lifted her into the arena. Maura had been right. But it was far worse than they had imagined. The heat was sweltering; she tried to take a deep breath and the gummy air seemed to stick in her throat. There was nothing, absolutely nothing but blue sky above her and heat-yellowed grass that stretched on infinitely. They would have to run a long time to find respite from the sun, assuming they didn't heat stroke and die before some barren wisp of a branch could be found to shelter under.<p>

She took note of the supplies. Various backpacks were the closest items; they formed the outer ring of supplies around the Cornucopia. They would hold survival items, canteens, rope, matches, maybe some meager food stuffs. The large food crates and the weapons would be in the mouth of the Cornucopia itself. She plotted a course in her head; two backpacks were on a reasonable trajectory to the Cornucopia. Korsak's voice echoed in her ear: _You won't do her any good if you get yourself killed on the first day._

Clenching her jaw, Jane looked out across the other tributes, "I need knives."

3…2…1…Gong!

Jane launched herself from her pedestal. The first backpack was relatively close; she snagged it on the run and threw it around her shoulders. The second she had to zig several yards to her right to grab and then zag back to her beeline for the Cornucopia. The female tribute from 2 was going for the same bag, but Jane had longer legs and beat her by a few strides. Now she could hear the growling breath of the girl behind her as she continued to run for the weapon's stash.

Knives were small and hard to see. She spotted none at the lip of the Cornucopia with the larger weapons. _Inside. Of course._ Jane regretted her stunt in the ranking now. No doubt Gabriel Dean had had the knives placed as far to the back of the inside of the Cornucopia as possible.

With reckless abandon she ran inside, but the girl from 2 had not abandoned her pursuit and tackled her. Jane only felt the weight of youthful muscle and bloodthirst as she slammed to the hard metal of the Cornucopia's floor.

"You're mine, lovebird," the girl snarled as she throttled Jane.

Jane grabbed her the wrists that were tightening around her neck and struggled; she looked around as she fought for breath, _there they are_. "Not today," she growled back, one long arm delivering a punishing haymaker to the girl's jaw. She fell aside disoriented and sputtering blood allowing Jane to grab the soft leather pouch that held six fierce throwing daggers. She pulled one free and folded the pouch over and shoved it down her shirt. A handful of blonde hair in her fist, Jane pulled the girl from 2 tightly against her and whispered in her ear, "Not today…and not tomorrow." The blade sliced through her throat with ease, the life gurgling out of her in futile choking sobs.

She could hear the screams and fighting dying down, she had to leave; she had to run…to find Maura. Jane put her head down and bolted for the opening of the Cornucopia. She prayed, to whom she didn't know, that she would streak by and find her path clear. Light. Blinding light. But, not sunlight…not directly. Her brain only registered the glint of sunlight off of steel the second before it made contact.

* * *

><p>It burned. Not just her skin from the blistering heat but her muscles. Every fiber in her body, every joint was screaming. Maura kept running. All understanding of time and distance was gone. She didn't know how long she had been running or how far. All she knew was that there was finally a spartan tree line in the distance and no amount of pain or feelings of imminent collapse were going to keep her from getting there.<p>

Her stride had shortened somewhere long about a mile or so ago and the pain in her right quadriceps and hamstring had crept higher until her hip ached so badly she was running with a pronounced limp. _Run, Maura…and don't stop until you can't run any longer._ She could still run, it hurt like hell but her legs were still moving, her lungs felt like they were filled with concrete but she was still breathing, and a desolate fear was gripping her heart but it was still beating.

_The trees_. Such as they were. A smattering of acacia, some taller jackalberry trees populated the outskirts of the "forest." Bushes and shrubs of varying ilk dotted the ample space between them. Maura pressed on, her straight shot run now interrupted by the scattered foliage. The fatigue was nearly unbearable but she willed herself forward until…her foot hung on a root and slammed her face first and hard to the ground.

The impact successfully vacated what little air she had in her lungs and she writhed in the dirt and shorter grass as she gasped for breath. _Get up_. The pain, like the heat was stifling. _Get up!_ She rolled from her side to her back to no avail. Eyes closed, she listened. Nothing but the wind.

_I love you, Maura._

"Jane!" Her eyes flashed open and a surge of newfound energy jolted her body into an upright sitting position. Nothing but the wind.

A dense and fat raisin bush was situated off to her right. Maura crawled towards it, fingering one of the delicate pink starburst flowers when she reached it. The mature branches hung down to the ground like a curtain; it was the best cover she was likely to find. Maura swept them aside and crawled into the heart of the shrub.

* * *

><p>She never saw who wielded the blade, only felt the sting of metal as it sliced through her skin from her right collarbone across her chest until it skimmed off the front of her shoulder. If she hadn't seen the glint at the last second allowing her to roll her shoulder back the blade would have cut far deeper than it had…perhaps too far. But, she had sufficiently dodged the swipe and the blade glanced superficially through her clothes and a few layers of skin. The wound hurt and it was bleeding, but it could have been far worse.<p>

Jane ran. She was already tired from her struggle with the girl from 2 and her chest and shoulder felt enflamed from the laceration; but somewhere out there was Maura. She had to find her.

Suddenly, their plan didn't seem like such a good idea after all. _Run and I'll find you. How exactly?_ The flaws were painfully evident now. It was immeasurably difficult to run a straight line across a grass savannah with no point on the horizon to use as a marker. They could end up running entirely different lines. Adrenaline could do amazing things to the body; Maura could outrun her, she might not catch up before…

Jane shook her head to try and banish the thought. The sun was setting and she was almost at what appeared to pass for a tree line. A backup plan began to unfurl in her mind. It was too dangerous to make fire at night; another tribute could see it. When darkness fell there would be no finding Maura until the morning. She would have to find somewhere to hole up for the night.

The root hooked her toe and felled Jane with ease. "Dammit!" She spat with disdain into the dirt and grass under her face. Jane froze. She cocked her head and listened, something rustled off to the side. Rebounding from the fall she popped to her feet and pulled the dagger from her belt.

"Jane?"

"Maura!" Frantically, she turned round and round, scanning the area but saw nothing. The rustling sound appeared on her right. She spun and saw Maura crawling out from under a bush. Jane threw the dagger to the ground and shrugged the two backpacks off her shoulders as she ran until Maura was wrapped tightly in her arms.

Maura gasped for breath into Jane's neck, "I…I ran."

Jane laughed, leaning back so she could look in Maura's eyes and run her hands over her sweat-stained face, "You did good. I didn't think I was going to catch up."

"Jane!" It was then Maura saw the tattered fabric and the dark red stain that had tarnished her jacket. "You're hurt!" She began to struggle desperately with the zipper of the jacket in an effort to pull it off.

Jane pushed her hands away and pulled her in close again, "It's ok," she whispered. "I'm ok…it's just a scratch."

Fear, at least for the moment, melted away in Jane's arms. Their part of the arena was silent. The agonizing heat began to fade with the sun. Maura pulled Jane into a kiss and held it until she knew she would want more if she didn't relent. In the last light of the first day they sorted the contents of the backpacks: two canteens filled with water, rope, a tarp, matches, 1 pair of night vision glasses and dried beef so desiccated Jane wondered if it wouldn't make better kindling than eating.

"And these…" Jane opened the pouch to reveal the additional five daggers. "You…should maybe carry one." She pulled one from its keep and held it out, but Maura refused.

Maura couldn't take her eyes off the darkening stain on Jane's jacket. It was what she was good at – healing. It also gave her comfort, something familiar to occupy her mind. Jane followed Maura's gaze and understood. She gingerly withdrew her arm from the jacket, revealing the laceration.

"It's not that bad," Maura muttered as she examined it.

"Told you."

The corner of Maura's mouth lifted in a small smile as she cut her eyes at Jane. "If you boil me some water…"

"Water's for drinking Maura."

She nodded. Jane was right. "Boiled bark of the raisin bush can be used as a wound dressing…" The tools were right there, but she couldn't use them. "It's not deep; it's just…there's still the risk of infection." Maura eyed one of the daggers as the pouch sat next to the matches.

Jane winced as Maura's next idea was more than apparent, "Do it. Just…do it quickly before it gets dark and the flames can be seen."

* * *

><p>Jane only thought the sun from earlier was hot. Fire-blackened steel pressed into raw flesh was a new layer of hell. She had managed not to scream…one small victory. Her body trembled uncontrollably as Maura bent over her, kissing her apologetically until the shock of the rudimentary cauterization finally began to subside. Maura stamped out the small fire as the last vestiges of sunlight shrank from the arena.<p>

"We'll camp here for tonight," Jane stated as she struggled to sit up. Camp. She hated the word as soon as she said it. Camping implied something fun. She, Frankie and Tommy had camped as children. Sure, it was on the rooftop of their apartment building but they'd erected a little shanty tent from scrap plastic sheeting, fashioned bedrolls from their blankets and pillows and gladly accepted a picnic dinner offered by their mother. They told stories by the light of one of their father's work lamps, ate their meager "campfire" meal and dreamed that the bricks around them were trees, the street below a river, and the stars above shone down with promises of freedom and a life of possibilities. Tommy was gone and Frankie was dead and a night under a raisin bush was hiding…not camping.

The anthem sounded throughout the arena signaling the death recap. Jane and Maura paused and looked up at the sky where the Capitol's seal floated, white against the black void above them. A picture of the girl from 2 was shown first.

"I killed her…at the Cornucopia," Jane muttered as Maura huddled in closer. "That means Ian and Casey are still out there."

Mags from District 4 was next. A barren grassland was no place for a victor renowned for being able to fashion a fish hook from anything. Jane wondered who had killed her. The victors from 5 and 6 were both gone, as well as the tribute from 5 and the tribute from 7. Jane tried to keep track in her head. That meant Giovanni from 6 and Blight from 7 had both survived. Victors and tributes from 9 and 10 hadn't made it past the first day either. That included the quirky old coot Stanley, who had made such a show of not having his food touch during the group lunches at training. The music stopped and the seal disappeared from the sky. Rondo, Barry Frost, Haymitch Abernathy and Madge had all survived.

They crawled as far into the dense cover of the shrub as they could. Jane threaded her arm under Maura's head, hooking it across her chest and curled around her. Her other arm, dagger in hand completed the embrace. An almost imperceptible buzzing noise caught her ear and Jane craned her head towards the stumpy heart of the shrub at her back. She recognized the sound then: a camera focusing, one of the Gamemaker's cameras housed in the shrub would broadcast their exhausted embrace to all of Panem. Of course there was a camera there, it was practically the only place of cover they had come across. Jane had to remind herself that no sanctuary was arbitrary.

_Very well_, she mused. _It can only help Korsak secure us sponsors._

"Jane," Maura whispered, fighting the pull of sleep. "What do we do tomorrow?"

Silence. Jane pulled Maura in tighter. "We survive."


	13. Something Wicked

**Author's Note: **Special warning for possible suicide trigger.

**CH 13: Something Wicked**

The heat came first, preceding the morning sun. Of course it was artificial. Programmed by Dean and the other Gamemakers. They hadn't traveled far enough from the Capitol to experience a temperature variance this severe. As real as it looked, everything in the arena was artificial, planned, and programmed. Some kind of biosphere in all likelihood. Maura had figured it out years ago and it all made sense when she discovered the forcefield around their balcony back at their suite in the Training Center.

_Why don't they just run away?_ She asked with childlike innocence looking from the television to her mother.

_They can't._

_Why not?_ Inquisitive eyes refocused on the telecast in front of her.

_Because, they just can't._

It only looked infinite, but somewhere out there the arena had borders. One could only run for so long. Either the arena would end in some no man's land of forcefields or nothingness or the Gamemakers would turn you around. Avoidance could only buy time. Eventually, circumstances arranged or otherwise would force tributes together. No one had ever won and not had to kill in order to do so.

Jane stirred behind her as sunrise broke through their shelter. "Did you sleep?" she asked as she leaned over Maura and kissed her temple.

"Some."

Back in the open air they both stretched. Jane fingered the ripened berries on the bush. "Can we eat these?"

Maura nodded, "They're high in vitamin C, sugar and have a decent amount of protein. They should give us some energy. We should pick as many of the ripe ones as possible and take them with us."

_Day two_, she thought as she watched Jane set to harvesting the tiny fruit. Maura looked down at her own handful of the pea-sized brownish morsels. _Last meal? _She had come to the conclusion in the night, it wasn't the hunger that really ate away at you; it was the fear of the unknown.

* * *

><p>"Boom, boom!" Wiress dusted off her hands and let out a cackle. "Boom, boom."<p>

"Yeah? Boom, boom? Is this going to go boom, you old crackpot?" Ian heckled the elder tribute from District 3.

"Oh, they'll blow, don't you worry," the teenage boy from District 3 replied as he finished marking off the last of the reactivated and replanted land mines on his makeshift map. He wiped the copious sweat from his brow. They had spent most of yesterday digging up the deactivated mines from around the pedestals at the Cornucopia and most of the first half of the present day, resetting them and burying them around camp.

Casey took a generous swig of water from his canteen and a bite of an apple. There was no need to ration, they had commandeered all the food supplies at the Cornucopia and set up camp on a small lake. "Good then. It seems to me that we don't need two land mine technicians then do we, Ian?"

Ian and his female compatriot from District 1 laughed. "No, Casey. I don't see much need for that at all."

"But you said if we helped you, we could join you!" The boy shrieked as he felt the cold steel tips of the trident wielded by the tribute from District 4 press into his back.

Wiress seemed none the wiser, babbling "Boom, boom" over and over again as the female tribute from 1's blade pressed into her neck.

"And you did join us," Casey laughed, "For one day. But, now the job is done and we don't need both of you. So, tell me boy…because quite frankly I don't know what's worse, her nonsensical babbling or your pathetic groveling…which one of you will it be?"

He pursed his lips and cut his eyes towards his District's victor. She'd been a victor all of his sixteen years. Each year her mind wandered further and further into insanity. All of her skills with technology remained though, as evidenced by her work with the mines but the past twenty-four hours the only words to utter forth from her lips were "Boom, boom."

He looked back at Casey, "Her," he whispered.

A flicker of recognition flashed on Wiress's face as she looked at him, and then all of their faces in turn: Casey, Ian, the young man from 4, and Giovanni. "Boom, boo…"

The brunette dragged her blade across Wiress's throat and drowned the last "boom."

* * *

><p>BOOM.<p>

Jane froze, tightening her grip on Maura's hand as the canon sounded signaling the death of a tribute. "If we can hear it, we're too close," she whispered, turning her head slowly from side to side to listen. Ten had died on the first day and with the recently sounded canon that brought the deaths to eleven. "Eleven more," she counted.

Maura pulled her in the opposite direction from the canon fire, "Let's go."

It was easy to get lost in your mind in the arena, particularly in this one with its lack of scenery and concentration-dulling heat. Jane was hearing her way through it rather than seeing. She didn't feel Maura stop until her arm hit the end of its stretch. Turning, she followed Maura's line of sight…a hare. Their hands disentangled and Jane reached for one of the daggers on her belt.

_Deep breath. Focus. Aim. Release_. The hare squeaked as the knife impaled it, twitched for a few seconds and then died.

Jane took painstaking care to make sure the fire stayed small, just enough to roast the small carcass. It wasn't much, but combined with the bush fruit they had packed she felt the gnawing rumble in her stomach begin to subside. She took a sip of water from her canteen and jiggled it. They would be out of water soon if they didn't find a source.

"You've barely spoken today," Maura said as she finished stamping out the last of the embers and kicking them around to cover their tracks.

"Come here," Jane stood and pulled her into her arms, wrapping a lock of Maura's ponytail around and around her finger as she silently watched the bright orange orb begin to lower in the sky. "Let's get up in this tree before it's too dark."

Between two well-spaced branches they fashioned a makeshift hammock out of the tarp and rope from one of the backpacks. Maura eyed it suspiciously when they were done, "Are you sure it will hold both of us?"

Jane crawled into the contraption. The tarp felt sturdy and the robust branches of the Kigelia didn't creak or groan. "I think it's ok." With some trepidation Maura joined her, settling into Jane's side as she held her breath in anticipation. Jane laughed, "You can breathe, Maura. It's not going to fall. I've built tree hammocks before…"

_Before._ She almost made it sound like a skill she'd honed on one of her rooftop camping trips with her brothers rather than a necessary skill discovered under duress in the arena seventeen years ago. The anthem blared through the space around them and between the branches of their loft for the night they could see the picture of Wiress projected across the sky.

"Only one…" Maura muttered, "…everyone was quiet today." The curiosity settled guiltily in the pit of her stomach. "I didn't realize how strange it would be not to know how they died. I always hated watching the Games, but now that I'm here…some strange part of me wants to know."

"Which is exactly why they don't show us," Jane responded, her hand stroking lightly up and down Maura's arm, "they wouldn't want to give away someone's secret killing strategy."

These were their last days together, it dawned on Maura. Her hand tightened on Jane's chest, fingers curling into sweaty skin. "Jane, tell me something you've never told anyone before."

"I sort of tried to kill myself, once." She just blurted it out. But, in the pause after Jane was glad she had said it. Maura always made her feel free to let go of her pain.

Maura felt her blood run cold and she propped herself up on her elbow and pulled Jane's face towards her. Darkness had descended on the arena; the twinkle of the faux stars above them did little to aid their vision. Maura's fingers crawled upwards from Jane's chest until they found her face. She traced the bridge of her nose, over an eyebrow and across a cheek through a fresh tear track.

Jane reached out and let her hand cup Maura's cheek, her thumb mirroring the soothing strokes Maura was making on hers. "When Korsak returned from Frankie's Games. That night. I went back to our old apartment where I'd been staying since I couldn't bear to be in the house. I felt…so empty. And then my wrists were bleeding and I didn't even remember making the cuts. I remember smiling as the blood ran down my hands and dripped off my fingers. There wasn't even any pain. I thought I was going to be free of all the agony and the nightmares. I thought I would die and slip away into peaceful nothingness. But, then they stopped bleeding…I hadn't cut deep enough."

"Why did you decide not to try again?" Maura brought each of Jane's wrists to her lips and placed a loving kiss over the veins she knew lurked just under the skin.

"I…" Jane paused, straining in the darkness, wishing she could actually see Maura, the color of her eyes, the little flecks of green and gold that twinkled the harder she concentrated. "…don't think I really tried that time. I just wanted to feel something, and then afterwards I started to think that even with all the nightmares and all of the bad days that followed….maybe there was something worth living for." Her hands sought out the face she knew was hovering close and pulled Maura closer still until their lips brushed slightly together. "There was," Jane breathed into a whisper of a kiss.

* * *

><p>Hoyt strolled casually into the Gamemakers' control room. Gabriel Dean didn't need to hear him enter…he could feel the President's presence and smell his simultaneously acrid and saccharine cologne as soon as the door opened.<p>

"Hmm," Hoyt hummed as he wandered between the individuals monitoring cameras and panning for shots. He clucked his tongue in annoyance. "A word…Gabriel." Gabriel. The name rolled off his tongue in an elongated hiss.

Dean ran a nervous hand through his grease-plastered hair and joined the President at the holographic imaging station that depicted the entire arena.

"I am bored, Gabriel. I am bored and the citizens are bored…being bored during a Quarter Quell displeases me…greatly." Hoyt tapped the image on the map where the two number eights were displayed, a projected image of Jane and Maura wandering through an acacia grove popped up. "Jaaaaane…" He smiled as he ran his finger across the image of her.

"The usual alliance of Districts 1, 2, and 4, and the tributes from Districts 3 and 6 are camped here…at the lake," Dean pointed to the spot not far from where they had all started at the Cornucopia. "Jane Rizzoli and Maura Isles are here, as you can see, in the far southern quadrant of the arena. Everyone else is spread out mostly east and west of the Cornucopia. Blight…here…in this denser wooded area. Rondo has circled back north. Barry Frost is east in the dense Bermuda grass. Haymitch Abernathy southeast, for now but he's been fairly mobile. The young one, Madge, she hasn't left the shelter of a hollowed out tree since the first day…no water, no food…she'll die of dehydration soon if she doesn't move."

"No doubt several will, thanks to this inferno you've created!" Hoyt barked.

"I can…manipulate that…a thunderstorm," Dean offered.

"Yes," Hoyt nodded. "But first," he reached again for the image of Jane. "Light a fire under her…force her into the fray. No hide and seek this time, my darling."

* * *

><p>It had taken the better part of the previous day and half of the present but little by little Giovanni Gilberti swiped a food item here, some matches there and squirreled them away in a backpack within easy reach. Only the landmine map remained and finally, Bodie, the boy from District 3 had felt comfortable enough to navigate his own booby trap without it. Giovanni glanced around; Ian and Star from 1 were out hunting…food or people, he wasn't sure. Silas from 4 was refilling the empty water jugs at the lake and Casey…Casey was close but out of sight. Second thoughts crept into his mind…maybe he should wait another day. Maybe a day when they all went out in a pack together…he could find some excuse to stay back at the camp, blow it all to hell and then run. Counter-thought: <em>they'll never all leave together; they're too smart for that. They'll think it suspicious if you want to stay.<em>

District 6 did not ally with the Careers, but the Careers would take on anyone they thought could be useful for a time: Mags, Bodie, himself…they were all tools. Giovanni knew that. Poor Bodie, he hadn't really figured it out, not even after what happened to Mags. He was starting to act like them. But, more important than that…he was the only one that knew how to navigate the minefield, or so the Careers thought. Giovanni knew that everyone underestimated him, took him for a meathead mechanic. He might not know how to activate a bomb but he knew plenty about domino effects and chain reactions. He also knew how to watch and he'd memorized the route through the minefield just as Bodie had. The Careers hadn't bothered. That was why he needed the map.

Slowly, he milled about camp until he came to where Bodie had left the parchment on a makeshift table; he stuffed it in his jacket and grabbed a couple of apples from a nearby bag. Then, he waited. Waited for Bodie to step into that sweet spot: three mines formed the points of a triangle, just close enough…trip 1, set them all off and bless the pour soul caught in the middle. Bodie hopped into the expected safe zone on his way to the tower of supplies. "Boom, boom," Giovanni whispered as he threw the apple and ran, deafening explosions and a single scream bellowing behind him.

* * *

><p>The most painful sound in the arena wasn't a scream, the sound of a canon, or the nightly playing of the anthem…it was shaking a water canteen to find it almost empty.<p>

"Approximately three days," Maura offered as she watched Jane stare with concern at the vessel. "For us to die without water replenishment. Though, given the extreme temperature of our location, the toll of such extensive direct sunlight and excessive fluid loss from sweat…symptoms of dizziness, fainting, delirium and unconsciousness could onset even sooner."

Jane passed the canteen to Maura, "You drink the last of it."

"Jane…" she protested.

"Drink it, Maura. We're going to find water. It is here. They want us to kill each other, remember, not die of thirst." Jane held the canteen to Maura's lips and waited until she'd drained the last drop.

It didn't feel right. The beginning tickle of a breeze sent a shiver up Maura's spine. She paused. "Do you smell that?"

Jane closed her eyes and inhaled the smell of burnt earth and heard a not too distant crackle like twigs snapping. She opened her eyes and looked behind them at the wall of smoke where previously there had been none. "Fire! Run!"

* * *

><p>Giovanni could hear Casey snarling behind him, a slur of obscenities nipping at his heels like a rabid dog as he struggled to run through the tall grass. Casey didn't care about Bodie, he would have killed the boy sooner rather than later anyway. He cared about the lost supplies and about being caught with his pants down. Giovanni lowered his head and willed his body forward through the tangle of grass.<p>

They would hunt him endlessly now. He knew that. He thought about his mother and his sisters as he ran, how ashamed they must have been to think that he had allied with the Careers. At least they would see why now. To even the playing field; that had been the goal. Now, Casey, Ian, Star and Silas were cut off from what remained of their own supplies. _Let's see how you like slumming in heat and hunger with the rest of us_, he laughed to himself as he ran, Casey's shouts fading behind him.

* * *

><p>Maura knew immediately the wall of fire was a "gift" from the Gamemakers. It was quite literally a wall…entirely too large for a natural brush fire. The fire also seemed to have a sentience. It anticipated their moves and countered to cut them off.<p>

"Dammit!" Jane yelled as they ran, gasping for air through the smoking heat. "They're herding us!"

"They…?" Maura croaked, holding desperately to Jane's hand as she struggled to keep up with Jane's clearing strides. _Oh…the Gamemakers. It was too quiet yesterday._

The inferno drew closer and closer, skin-melting heat boiling off the flames and rolling forward to overtake them. _We can't outrun it_. Maura felt panic begin to coil around her lungs. She glanced over her shoulder as they darted past a gargantuan Baobab tree with a hollowed trunk. With all her strength she slammed to a stop, yanking Jane from her feet and pulling her back towards the tree.

"The trunk of the Baobab is fireproof!" she yelled to encourage Jane to follow her.

They dove inside with the flames only a few yards away. Jane threw Maura to the ground inside the spacious trunk and collapsed on top of her, her back to the opening as the flames engulfed the tree and scorched the earth around it.

* * *

><p>"Mmmm" Jane whimpered as her body began to tremble and shake.<p>

Clawing her way out of Jane's vice-like embrace, Maura pulled her out of the trunk, her hands clasping her mouth to muffle the sounds of horror as Jane rolled to her hands and knees and rocked in pain. The flames had lapped across the exposed skin where her shirt and jacket had ridden up under the backpack as the ran, charring the skin and leaving it bloody and raw.

_NO._ Maura sniffled and wiped at the couple of tears that sneaked out. _No crying._ She helped Jane shed the backpack and rolled the singed and tattered jacket and tank up so that they didn't accidentally touch the mutilated flesh and adhere to it.

"It hurts…it hurts…" Jane panted as she gripped the ashen earth between her fingers.

Helplessly, Maura wrapped her arms around her love and kissed the flinching skin above the burns, "I know…"

The crunch and crackle of heavy footsteps broke through the silence but the grey smoke hung like a curtain and reduced visibility to virtually nil. Maura carefully slid one of the daggers from Jane's belt and felt her go tense in helpless anticipation.

Giovanni sliced through the dissipating smoke and came to a halt ten feet in front of her. Maura leaped to her feet and took a step towards him to shield Jane, dagger outstretched. "Don't you come any closer," she warned.

"Whoa!" he threw his hands up, gasping for breath, sweat pouring profusely from his brow and dripping from his soaked clothing. "I'm not…" he stammered, he wouldn't have expected it from her, not after what he'd seen in training. Her hand gripped the dagger solidly with no sign of hesitancy. Lips pursed, brow knitted ferociously, her eyes seethed with rage.

Giovanni reached slowly into his jacket, "They might be right behind me…you should hide. Take this." He pulled out the folded parchment and tossed it towards her.

Maura's eyes darted to the ground and then back to the tribute in front of her, "Go," she shouted in earnest warning.

* * *

><p>The air felt cooler somehow though the land around them was heavy with the odor of burning. The Baobab trunk sheltered them from the sun as the afternoon hours passed. No one else had come their way and the smoke had slowly and placidly rolled out until the sky around them was clear again.<p>

Jane shook and twisted in Maura's arms. "I'll…feel better tomorrow."

Maura's thumb stroked through sweaty black hair and over the edge of her ear as she nodded against Jane's cheek, "Yeah."

A rhythmic beeping caught her ear followed by a soft thud outside the trunk. Maura propped Jane up and crawled carefully to the opening.

"Where…"

"I'm right here, Jane," she made sure to keep one hand in contact with Jane's body, all the way down her leg until she wrapped her hand around an ankle as she peeked outside the tree. A small pot attached to a silver parachute with a blinking red light sat a few feet away. _A sponsor!_ Maura crawled to the gift and then scrambled back inside the tree.

Through the pain, Jane managed a small laugh, "I…guess someone's rooting for us."

"Please…please…" Maura muttered over and over as she struggled to get the pot open. She retrieved a jar from inside it and unscrewed the lid.

"What is it?" Jane asked, gritting her teeth as she tried to steel her body against the waves of agony.

Maura brought the jar to her nose and sniffed, "Jane! I think it's burn cream." She pulled Jane towards the opening to take advantage of the last light of the day. "It's going to hurt when I put it on."

Jane nodded and wrapped her arms around her legs, using her knees to muffle her cries as Maura slathered the thick white cream across her back.

* * *

><p>Jane awoke with a start into darkness but stilled as she felt Maura's arms tighten around her and soothing lips press to her forehead. "I heard a voice."<p>

"They just finished the death recap…the boy from District 3 and…" she didn't want to tell her, "…Madge, the little girl from 12."

"I'm surprised she made it three days…" Jane shifted and noticed the pain had subsided considerably. "I think the cream is working."

She knew somewhere in the tree there was a camera and somewhere out there Korsak and a sponsor who had paid dearly for that medicine were watching. _Thank you_, Maura mouthed silently into the darkness."

"Tell me something," Jane asked, "a story, anything."

Maura smiled and ran the back of her hand down Jane's cheek, "Like what?"

"Tell me…about your first kiss," Jane chuckled as she said it.

"What? You don't remember? It was you."

Jane stirred in her arms, "You're kidding? On the train?"

Maura laughed, "No…not on the train. You really don't remember? That day in the recess yard…I think it was right before our first Reaping…"

"Oh!" Jane gasped bashfully. "I…didn't think that counted."

It had all started as a game of dare. Their first Reaping was in two days and Shanae Halder fretted over the possibility of being reaped without ever having kissed a boy. Jane rolled her eyes; there were things of far greater concern to her as she approached her first Reaping. Kissing a boy didn't even make the long list.

_So, go kiss one_, Jane had jabbed as Shanae put on a face of utter shock at the suggestion. _I dare you!_ She blurted out with a mischievous grin as she surveyed the yard…_Him…Kurt Dennis._ Kurt Dennis was two years older and relatively handsome as far as boys went. They all stared at Shanae as her face went pale.

_Well…well…I dare you!_ Shanae retorted.

_You can't dare her after she just dared you!_ Macy Parker protested.

_Ok, ok look._ Jane held up her hand to quiet their bickering. _We go one after the other, whoever gets a kiss on the lips is the winner. Losers forfeit the dessert from their lunch trays for 1 week!_ She crossed her arms and looked at the other girls. The cafeteria cookies weren't much to write home about but they were better than nothing. For a couple of the girls, the school lunch was their biggest if not only meal of the day.

Jane watched amused as each girl meekly sidled up to her target selected by another. Some kicked at imaginary stones on the ground, some blushed bright red from embarrassment, and some twisted their hands and wiped the sweat off on their clothes as they stammered out their proposition to the chosen gentleman.

All rejected, save Samantha, who had only gotten a kiss on the cheek; only Jane remained. They must have seen her stealing glances across the yard because one corner of Shanae's mouth curled up in a devilish smirk. Simultaneous giggles erupted from the group as Shanae pointed, _Ok, Jane Rizzoli…we choose her._

If it had been anyone else, Jane would have walked up, asked for the kiss and pulled the boy into one if he'd refused. There were cookies on the line after all. She was different. Jane threw her shoulders back and put on an air of confidence as she took a seat on the bench next to Maura. _Whatcha doing?_

Maura looked up startled and then back down at her notebook. _My homework…for tomorrow._

Jane snorted but caught herself before she laughed full on. _Oh. Well…look, the girls…_

Maura smiled and Jane felt all intelligent words lodge square in her throat. Hazel eyes glistened as Maura giggled. _You can kiss me…if that's what you were going to ask. I…noticed your game._

_Oh. You did?_ Jane swallowed hard as Maura nodded.

_Well?_

Jane leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek. Smiling, she pulled back and felt a strange swell of pride as Maura's neck and cheeks flushed crimson. Gently she grasped Maura by the chin and turned her head to face her. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and suddenly she thought maybe Shanae had been right, maybe this was something worth having just in case her name was called. She pressed her lips to Maura's and held the chaste kiss for several seconds until the class bell rang.

None of their names were called in the Reaping. Jane slipped out of lunch early each day for the next week and left the cookies wrapped in a napkin inside Maura's desk.

"It counted," Maura whispered as they both gave in to their third night in the arena.


	14. Swing Low

**CH 14: Swing Low**

The water hole was really that in name only. Stagnant mud pit was more befitting. But, there was a little water still baking on the top of the muddy crust; that was if the solitary deer or antelope or whatever it was didn't drain the last drop. A little water was better than no water. There had been a minor downpour the previous day. Not really even enough to take the burn out of the air and when it had stopped the arena had gone from just plain hot to sweltering and humid.

Rondo pulled the twig out of his mouth and regarded the end he had been gnawing on. At least it gave him the feeling of something in his mouth, the chewing sensation helping to convince his mind and his belly that he was eating. An old trick from back in District 11 where the workdays were long, hot, and humid, the water was rationed and the meals were small. It occurred to him the orchard workers must have had it the worst. All day picking fruit that they couldn't eat while their stomachs growled and begged for just one morsel. He had been reaped in his last eligible year having already spent what seemed a lifetime in the cotton fields. There wasn't any temptation to eat cotton, so they chewed on the sticks to help pass the hours between lunch in the field and whatever meager meal waited at home for dinner.

The monthly victor's allowance was more than enough food for one person. He gave most of it away. And though he didn't have to he still spent his days in the cotton fields, singing. The songs had been passed down in District 11 for generations. He'd always been the singer in his field and the other hands would hum in chorus. That helped pass the time too. The scythe had been his weapon all those years ago in the arena, it was light and familiar in his hand and it spilled blood with ease…so much blood. Very little gave him happiness after that, save for the singing, that's why he returned to the fields.

Now, he had no weapon, he'd done well just to get away from the melee at the Cornucopia unscathed. He had no food, save for some wild fruit he'd scavenged over the past few days. And he had no canteen. When it had rained he had dropped to his back on the ground and opened his mouth and drank all he could until the pathetic sprinkle had ceased.

Rondo smiled, gave a light chuckle and took a deep breath as he let his heavy baritone float from his perch on the small hill down to the mud hole:

_Deep river,_

_My home is over Jordan._

_Deep river, Lord._

_I want to cross over into campground._

_Deep river,_

_My home is over Jordan._

_Deep river, Lord._

_I want to cross over into campground._

_Oh, don't you want to go,_

_To the Gospel feast;_

_That Promised Land,_

_Where all is peace?_

_Oh, deep river, Lord._

_I want to cross over into campground._

The stag at the water listened, raising his head at the first note as muddy water dripped from his mouth. Enthralled, much as the other workers had been the first day in the field when he'd opened that boyish mouth and a man's voice had filled the air, the creature listened until the last note.

"You go on, now," Rondo warned as he approached the hole, "and beware of men with steel."

He sank to his knees in the quickly drying oasis and skimmed his hand across the top of the small pool of water and brought it to his parched and expectant lips. "Deep river…you are not."

The water was hot and slimy with silt, dead gnats, and no telling what else. He drank it anyway, handful after handful. He froze, the water in his cupped hand that was almost to his lips dripped free from between his fingers. "Only a man with a blade walks so loud his footsteps can be heard." Rondo stood and turned.

Blight had become a man of few words over the course of the Quarter Quell proceedings. Rondo's eyes traveled down from his stern and emotionless face to the tomahawk he gripped in his right hand. He put the stick back in his mouth and chewed. "I know you don't wanna do this, man. Still Careers out there. You could save old Rondo for last. Chances are I'll probably starve to death or die of dehydration first. Maybe end up on the pointy end of Ian Faulkner's spear before you even get back round to me."

Blight didn't flinch except to tighten his grip on the weapon. He didn't want to do it. He hadn't wanted to do it the first time and he especially didn't want to now…not to the victors he'd come to call friends over the years. But, a man will do things he doesn't want to do, things that appall him, when the only other choice is dying.

Rondo nodded and spat the twig out. He could try to run, but he was old and didn't figure his chances were good against a victor from the lumber district wielding a throwing ax. _End of the road._ All those years ago, the first time around, he could still remember how the other children ran, pleaded, and screamed even when the end was inevitable. He wasn't a child this time. "Just…" he held up one hand slowly, "…I don't want to see it coming."

He turned his back on the other victor, took a deep breath and let it go with words:

_Swing low, sweet chariot_

_Coming for to carry me home,_

_Swing low, sweet chariot,_

_Coming for to carry me…_

* * *

><p>The light rain three days ago had been just enough to fill their canteens but that supply like the one before it dwindled with each hesitant sip as the days turned over. It had been tempting to head back into the charred section of the arena that the fire had consumed. Jane doubted anyone would come there, what with there being no shelter and all plant and animal life having gone up in the conflagration. It was an unenviable decision: less likelihood of encountering another tribute…even less likelihood of finding sustenance. They headed east instead, trying to keep distance between themselves and the Cornucopia where the Careers were likely camped nearby.<p>

Maura plopped to the ground under a scarce bit of shade from an acacia and retrieved the last baobab fruit from her pack. The tree they had sheltered in from the fire was tall enough that some of the fruit survived the scorching flames. But, the fruit was large and only a few fit in their packs. She handed it to Jane to split with her knife and they shared the dry pulpy contents mixed with a little water to make the acidic contents easier to choke down.

"There's the map…with the lake," Maura started. They had already had this conversation.

"I don't trust it," Jane countered immediately. "Why would he give that to you? He could have killed you…me…with ease."

"The look in his eyes…"

"Maura." Jane sighed and ran her hands through her hair as she tightened her ponytail.

"You've never not trusted me."

Jane turned and cupped Maura's face in her hands, "I trust you. Absolutely. But, not him. Not this Giovanni. This is the arena. As long as we can find water every few days, we're fine. Ok?"

Maura nodded. "I can't believe it's been a week."

Jane set the empty husk of her half of the fruit aside, "Hey," she wrapped one hand around the back of Maura's neck as the other stroked her cheek and drew her into a kiss. In that moment she could forget the terrible world that surrounded them; she could vanquish for just a few seconds the constant jitter of fear that flurried in her chest. The kiss waned and Jane pressed her lips to Maura's cheek and pulled her in close. "The opportunity to do that is all I need to keep going."

* * *

><p>Living through the Games once had given Jane somewhat of a sixth sense. At least, that's what she thought of it as. Maura, with her unyielding rationality and logic had countered that she was just adept at identifying patterns in the game and expecting when a Gamemakers' manipulation was due. Maybe that was it. Either way as the day wore on Jane grew increasingly plagued by an unsettling feeling.<p>

"It's been too long since someone died," she said, coming to a halt in a particularly brushy grove. "What night was it the picture of Rondo was shown in the sky?"

"Night before last," Maura answered. _Too quiet. She's right._

She couldn't hear anything but the hair on her arms raised and she could feel herself sweating more profusely in anticipation. Jane scanned the grove, once, twice, and on the third time…she caught sight of the trident hurtling through the air with the corner of her eye. Launching into Maura she slammed them to the ground as the projectile glanced over them. Jane jumped to her feet just as Silas from District 4 was on them.

"Maura! Run!" she yelled as she grappled with the man some fifteen years her junior.

Jane had just managed to loose a dagger from her belt when he had collided with her. Now, they struggled for control of the blade. He was wrenching it from her grasp, little by little, his body heavy and debilitating on top of her. Silas jerked it free and turned the blade on Jane. A guttural howl tore from her throat as she summoned every ounce of strength to keep the dagger from her own throat. The sharp steel sliced with ease through her palms as she deflected her attacker. The lacerations stretched and burned as she continued to work her hands in her own defense.

"Dammit! Maura! Run!" Jane yelled again.

But, Maura didn't run, Jane gasped as the tip of the blade came within an inch of piercing her throat as Silas lurched forward from the weight of Maura on his back.

"Get…off…of her!" Maura shrieked, her arm tightening around his neck in a chokehold as he growled and snorted, still trying to press the dagger to Jane's throat against her unexpectedly strong resistance.

The action was so quick Jane could only watch as he let go of her and stabbed the knife blindly behind him. Maura fell to the ground.

"NO!" Jane bellowed, finally free of the brunt of his weight she grabbed for the spare dagger on her belt and let out a blood-curdling scream as she slashed wildly towards him. The first swipe connected under his ear and opened his face with a gaping cut from his jaw, over his cheek and up to the corner of his eye. Silas threw his head back and reached for his face and Jane caught his throat on the down stroke. She threw her body into him, knocking him back and straddling him as she plunged the blade into his chest over and over until his last gurgling attempt at a breath froze in his throat and his blue eyes stilled and glassed over.

BOOM. The canon fired.

"Maura…" Jane muttered as she crawled towards her. "Lemme see."

Maura's hands trembled as she let them slide, bloodied, away from the wound in her side. Her eyes blinked rapidly and she fought the panic that made her throat feel like it was closing in. A tear crept out and she reached for it, not wanting Jane to see her cry, the blood from her hand cleared the salty drop away and left a streak of crimson in its place.

"How deep did it go?" Jane's voice shook as she rolled Maura's tank and jacket up to see the blood oozing out of the wound.

"I don't know," Maura whispered, gasping and digging her fingers into the earth as Jane covered the wound with her own hands and applied pressure.

"Tell me what to do, Maura. Tell me what to do."

"Gotta…stop the bleeding," she couldn't stop the tears this time as Jane pressed down harder. "Based on…the location…the blade could have pierced the large or small intestine. If that's the case…chances are…I'll bleed to death internally or possibly develop bacteremia or sepsis. Either of which in this environment, untreated, would be fatal…"

"No," Jane choked, shaking her head. "That's not gonna happen. I'm not going to let that happen."

Maura smiled and settled her hands on top of Jane's, "I love you."

"No!" Jane protested, "Don't you dare say that like you're dying."

"Silas!" The name cut through the grove from a distance. Ian or Casey, Jane couldn't be sure.

"Dammit!" Jane scrambled for their supplies; slinging the packs on backwards so that they were on her chest she fastened them around her back. "UP!" Maura yelped as Jane pulled her to her feet, squatted and hoisted her onto her back. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, Jane ran.

* * *

><p>She remembered Maura's demo, how easily a single blade of elephant grass had sliced through skin, as she approached the more than six-foot tall field of it. It was the only cover; it would have to do.<p>

"Maura, I want you to tuck your face into my neck, ok?" Jane waited until Maura complied before pushing into the dense grass. Her hands were already cut from the fight; she put them out ahead of herself to push the grass aside, hoping to avoid taking the brunt of it with her face.

The clumps of grass were dense but finally Jane came to a small clearing. She eased Maura off her back and settled her on the ground. Stripping off her own jacket she wadded it up and propped Maura's head on it. "Drink some water," Jane put the edge of the canteen to Maura's lips.

"We don't have that much left."

Jane tilted the canteen anyway, helping Maura lift her head to drink. "It's not bleeding that much, Maura. That's a good sign right?"

Maura managed a feeble smile. She didn't have the heart to tell her that the pressure from being pressed against Jane's back might have helped the external portion of the wound to clot. She could still be bleeding internally; there was no way to know. If there wasn't significant internal damage and barring infection, there was a chance the wound was survivable. Given the circumstances, Maura had difficulty grasping at that small flicker of hope. "Yes, Jane. It's a good sign."

Rooting through the backpack Jane produced the ointment a sponsor had sent after the fire, "We have some of this left. Would that help?"

"It would do better for your hands," Maura reached for Jane's wrist and turned her palm over where she could see deep cuts from the struggle and the smaller lacerations from wading through the grass.

"Don't worry about my hands," Jane unscrewed the top and scooped up the remaining ointment.

Maura's grip was surprisingly strong on her arm, "Please, Jane. You need your hands." She swiped her finger through the ointment, dragging it down to Jane's palm and rubbing it in. She gathered more and treated the other hand as well.

Jane's face softened as she stroked Maura's cheek with her free hand, "Ever the healer. And always taking care of me."

"It's what I do," Maura sniffled, releasing her grip on Jane after the ointment was rubbed in.

"Now, let me take care of you for once," Jane spread the wound slightly as Maura stifled a scream and applied the last of the ointment as far in where the blade had gored her as possible.

* * *

><p>President Hoyt strode with a satisfied smirk on his face through the control room. "Jane, Jane, Jane," he clucked, watching the screen with something vaguely resembling admiration. "You are a determined one!"<p>

"A formidable group of victors and tributes," Gabriel Dean added as he stepped up next to the President.

Hoyt turned his head slowly and let his sinister gaze drag down the length of his Head Gamemaker's body, "A shame really. That only one can live."

Dean tried to hide the shiver the soul-baring look gave him. "For some reason, Sir, I don't believe you when you say that."

Hoyt laughed his tinny and wheezing laugh and reached for the image of Jane on the screen, "Jaaaane. So beautiful. So defiant. So…in love. And when did that ever serve anyone well?" He turned and faced Dean. "The elephant grass field sits in a flood plain, does it not?"

Dean swiped his hand across the screen and brought up a topographical rendering of the arena, "It does."

Hoyt smiled, "A few days ago…you promised me a thunderstorm."

* * *

><p><em>You've got to be kidding me<em>. Jane looked up and watched as the early evening sky grew black, not from the setting sun but from ominous clouds that appeared out of nowhere.

"That doesn't look good," Maura noted as the clouds continued to darken and roll overhead.

"No, it doesn't." Jane sat up and pulled the tarp from one of the packs. The rain began to fall, lightly at first, just a drizzle. Jane swung her leg over Maura and straddled her as she unfurled the tarp, staking it to the ground with her daggers a few feet out on each side of Maura's body as she used herself as the center pole to create a makeshift tent over them.

"Creative," Maura murmured, looking up at Jane with a smirk.

The sky opened with a jarring clap and the rain began to fall in heavy sheets; yet, for the time being, the tarp deflected the giant drops and kept them dry.

"Look on the bright side," Maura turned her head and reached for the canteen, "We needed water anyway."

Jane held the canteen out where a steady stream of rainwater flooded off the tarp. When it was full she filled the other. _Small favors_, she thought. This rain was heavier than the last and the thunder exploded above them shooting out bright streaks of lightning that illuminated everything in the darkness around them. Yet another reminder of how the arena was an exercise in surviving the extreme.

* * *

><p>Only utter exhaustion could have dragged her into sleep with the rain pelting down from above and the thunder mimicking the sound of a war zone. But, sleep she had, her chin slumping forward to her chest as she straddled Maura in an effort to keep the tarp aloft and the rain off of them. Maura shouting her name pulled her abruptly from that slumber.<p>

Jane gasped, her eyes flashing open into darkness. It was then she could feel the water, feel Maura trying to shake her awake, and hear Maura coughing and choking. A streak of lightning lit the arena just long enough for Jane to see the floodwaters nearly covering Maura's face. She grabbed her and pulled her into a sitting position as Maura cried out in pain.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Jane panted as she struggled to calm her breathing from the shock. She wrapped her arms around Maura and hugged her close, "I'm sorry. I fell asleep."

Maura nodded, "The water…it's still rising."

Jane pulled the daggers free and felt blindly through the muddy water around them for the packs and the canteens. The water continued to rush past as they stood, creeping higher and higher. It was surprisingly cold and only then did Jane realize that the one thing she hadn't retrieved was her jacket that she had placed under Maura's head. The water was mid thigh in depth now and she figured the jacket for lost, swept away in the current that seemed to be flowing in the direction from which they had entered the grass earlier that evening.

Maura shivered, her teeth chattering as she pressed herself flush against Jane. "Drought…fire…now flood. It can't get any worse."

The water was nearly to her hips now. Jane tightened her grip around Maura and pressed her lips to wet and plastered hair at Maura's temple. "It's the arena. There's always something worse." Jane tried to move her feet, contemplated hoisting Maura back on her back and trying to make for higher ground. She couldn't remember how far into the field they had fled and the mud beneath her was thick and sticky. _As slow as we'd be moving…we won't make it to higher ground if it keeps rising._

"How high could it possibly get," Maura knew it was a stupid question as soon as it slipped out. This wasn't some random flood, after all.

Jane's body shook as she laughed, "Well, I'm 5'9. I'd guess…at least that high."

"Jane…I can't swim."

Jane lifted Maura's chin and kissed her softly on the lips, "Neither can I."

There were no pools in District 8. There were empty concrete rectangles in the ground surrounded by fences where pools once existed, but in all their lives those holes had never been filled with water. There were no lakes in District 8 either, no creeks and no river.

The water rose. It parted at Maura's back and rippled around her ribs as the rain continued to fall. "Jane…" she said softly, "…when it's over our heads, I'm not going to fight it, ok? Just…don't let go. I want to stay in your arms."

Jane reached for the chain around her neck and ripped it, breaking the clasp so she could slide the ring off. In the dark she fumbled for Maura's left hand, bringing it to her mouth, she kissed it before guiding Maura's fingers to touch the circle of silver. "This was my token for the arena. Your…your biological father came to me in the Justice Building after the Reaping."

"My…father? But only your mother, Korsak and Patrick…" her voice trailed off as the realization set in.

Jane sniffled as she nodded against Maura's cheek on the last name, "He gave this to me. He wanted to marry her, your mother…he carried this in his pocket every day she was alive hoping it would be the day he could ask her. And he carried it every day after she died wishing he had. I don't want to carry it anymore."

She slid the ring onto Maura's finger and kissed her, over and over, murmuring "I love you," in between each one.

Maura wrestled with a sob, trying to restrain it but failing, she dug her nails into the back of Jane's neck as she cried, "Don't you dare say that like you're dying."

The water rose, licking at Maura's chin as she strained to keep her head above water. She could feel Jane squat down, her long arms hooking around her backside as she hoisted her up.

If it weren't for the familiar beeping noise and the red light blinking in the dark, Maura wouldn't have known what it was that made a small splash off to her right. She reached for the object, her fingers searching the black void ahead until they closed around wet metal. Unzipping the pack on Jane's back she pulled out the night vision glasses.

"Maura…" Jane struggled to speak over the water that was cresting near her mouth. "Please tell me a boat just dropped out of the sky next to us."

There was a pop and then a hiss of air. "Jane!" Maura could barely contain the laugher, "It's a life vest!" She reached back in the sponsor's pot but came out empty handed. "But…there's only one."

"Put it on Maura," Jane commanded gruffly, spitting water as she tried to talk.

"Jane…"

"Maura! Put the damn vest on! It will either float both of us or it won't and if it won't…" Jane took a deep breath, _perhaps the last_, she thought. "Put on the vest, Maura."


	15. Dog Days

**CH 15: Dog Days**

Stars. There were so many. Maura knew that in reality they were probably fake, some kind of projection into the sky over the arena. They were still beautiful. Back home, when she had stared into the night sky, it had served as a reminder that there was a world out there beyond the brick and mortar of her district. The rain, thunder and lightning had ceased, how long ago, she wasn't sure. The night was still and the water cold but she was getting used to it, that, or everything was just numb. Her side didn't hurt, quieted by the cold water all around her and the overwhelming panic from the flood. And she wasn't dead yet, so maybe there wasn't any internal bleeding. It was all enough to put her past the point of feeling. Even watching Jane stab the tribute from District 4 over and over had barely stirred her. This wasn't living. As Jane had said on their first night in the arena: _What do we do tomorrow? We survive_. Surviving, that's all it was becoming.

Maura wanted to close her eyes, to sleep, and let the floodwaters drift her along until the morning. But she couldn't. Thinking about sleep made her eyes feel heavy. A jolt of adrenaline coursed through her as she caught herself dozing. She couldn't sleep. Maura tightened her arms around Jane.

Jane turned her head where it rested on Maura's chest to look in the direction where her lover's face should be, if only she could see it in the darkness. "Don't worry, Maura. I'm still holding on."

"I'm afraid I'm going to fall asleep and let go and that you'll slip away into the water," Maura's fingers curled into Jane's shoulder and gripped desperately at her wet tank, wadding it up in her hand.

The life vest was buoyant enough for the both of them, but the fear still lingered: could they stay awake all night without letting go. Jane let her hand slide up the coarse material until she felt the chilled and clammy skin of Maura's cheek. "It will be morning soon."

* * *

><p>Somewhere out there, there were eight remaining tributes. As the sun began to rise after a nearly sleepless night, Barry Frost shifted on the tree branch he had slept on and looked out as dawn broke on the savannah. Those other tributes were probably thankful for the bout of cool brought on by the storm. Frost knew better. That sun was going to set high above the arena and cascade down on the saturated ground and wet plants and in a few hours a dense humidity would settle around them. The air would have substance and texture. It would feel like walking through foam; it would stick to you and all around you and clog your lungs so you couldn't breathe. Sweat would pour from every gland unlike any other day in the arena so far and sap the body of every last ounce of moisture and energy.<p>

Frost knew what these days were like. The dog days they called them in District 11: July and August. They were miserable. Grown men, strong men, dropped in the fields from exhaustion, their skin burnt red or black from the sun and glistening. Their bodies would twitch as they fought failure. The Peacekeepers would whip them to try and force them to rise. Most of the time they couldn't. They would retch but nothing would come up, convulse but there were no doctors to help them, eventually their eyes would roll back and they would die, their faces twisted in pain. Sometimes the overseers increased the water rations…sometimes they didn't. Frost looked out from his perch across the vacant land around him. He wondered what men cried for in the other districts. Food? A voice? Freedom? In District 11, during the dog days, as they lay dying amongst the corn, cabbage, tomatoes and fruit trees, they cried for water.

* * *

><p>It took about an hour after the sun had come up for the water to drain, as easily as the Gamemakers could create a flood they could take it away. "Thank you," Jane murmured as her feet finally touched the ground again. Soggy ground; but, ground nonetheless. They were near the edge of the field of elephant grass now, the current of the water during the night having slowly delivered them back to where they had entered the previous day.<p>

As the last of the water leached into the ground, Maura sank to her knees, exhausted. "Can we stay here for a little while, maybe sleep?"

Jane helped Maura shed the vest and then reached for her face, thumbs stroking under weary eyes as she kissed her forehead, "I don't think we should risk it. The Careers could come back…another flood." Maura nodded. "How's your wound?"

Maura pealed her wet clothes back to expose the stab wound. "There must not have been any major internal damage or chances are I wouldn't have lived through the night. However, submersion in water of questionable cleanliness has probably greatly increased the risk of infection."

Jane bit her lip and settled her hand lightly on the discolored skin around the wound tract. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Not really."

"Can you walk?" Jane asked as she stood and reached to help Maura up. "Let's try to find some shelter, maybe something to eat."

* * *

><p>He would have been content to just let the man pass. Frost was safe in his tree, having decided to forgo any major movement as the heat and humidity increased exponentially. He had one canteen and had filled it during the storm. It would get him well through the day if he didn't expend any more energy than was necessary. But, the rumble in his stomach was getting severe, so loud he feared that sound alone could give away his hiding place. Running the time back in his head he figured he was going into his third day with no food, the last morsel being a leathery lizard he'd found in its death throes amidst a plague of ants. The ants had powerful pincers and had not relinquished their victim without a fight. A little bit of mud over the welts had tempered the sting.<p>

Blight passed under his tree and paused as he surveyed the land around him, two scrawny weasel looking creatures dangled dead from his belt.

During hard times back in 11, Frost had seen men come to blows for far less. One year, there was a terrible drought. Elias Truth broke Sam King's jaw over the last cup of water from the cooler. Killing a man for the scraps of game strung to his belt seemed more than reasonable given the circumstances. He reached for the sickle he had procured at the Cornucopia.

_The boy's strong for his size_. That's what his father had said to get him in the fields as soon as possible. Another body in the field meant more food rations for the family. It was true. He was strong for his size, and he had stamina. Seven years old and he was sent to the wheat fields, sickle in hand. And there he remained, day after day, year after year, through all the dog days summer had to offer going on twenty-three years. There were two types of reaping in District 11 and Barry Frost had fallen victim to both of them.

He jumped from the tree, bringing the curved blade to bear with all his force onto the back of the other man's neck. Blight never saw or heard him coming. A man wasn't wheat, but the blade was sharp and served this purpose as well as the other. A pang of guilt reverberated through his chest as the canon fired. It didn't get any easier. He'd killed one at the Cornucopia, the tribute from District 5, just to get to the sickle and a backpack with supplies. It was difficult to reconcile: he had volunteered to save a life only to take two in return…so far.

Frost took the backpack from the Blight's shoulders and pulled the two dead creatures from his belt. Their bodies were long and sleek, the coat short and grizzled. A small, fine head hid sharp, no doubt, deadly teeth. They did look for all the world like more rugged versions of the weasels that sometimes sneaked into the chicken coops. Weasel stew didn't make for a bad meal, a little gamey, a little greasy but it was meat. He held up the two specimens. There would be no stew, but Frost imagined they would quiet his hunger just as well roasted over a fire.

* * *

><p>Jane pushed east, moving away from the direction the Careers had come from when they attacked. By mid afternoon the arena was sweltering and the only thing that made Jane miss her lost jacket was the deep sunburn that was charring and cracking her skin. There was a tree line just ahead, maybe half a mile and they would be off the open grassland. The thought of shade made Jane's skin itch and tighten in anticipation.<p>

"Jane…" Maura stumbled, grasping her side. Pain. It had returned with a vengeance. Each step was agonizing. She looked down as Jane pried her hands away from the wound. The activity had caused it to ooze; blood had seeped all the way through to the outside of her jacket. With every drop of sweat and blood the arena was draining the life from her.

"Drink." Jane held the canteen to her lips and forced Maura to keep hydrating even when she tried to push it away. Maura had noticed that Jane only seemed to ration when it came to herself. "We're almost to the trees, Maura. It's not that much farther. And then we can rest in the shade."

Above their heads a bird screeched and circled. Maura watched it fly, a black shadow against bright blue. A harbinger. Her head fell softly forward to Jane's shoulder.

"Hey," Jane whispered in her ear as her hands stroked comfortingly up and down Maura's back, "you're not giving up on me are you?"

_Survive_. She inhaled the scent of Jane: sweat, dirt, and the metallic remnants of dried blood not washed away by the rain. Fingers pushed under the tattered tank and dug into Jane's back. Her skin was wet, hot to the touch, and the muscles flexed under Maura's grasp. The arena nights, when darkness made all of the cruelty around them disappear, were when she lived. _Live_. Living was being wrapped in Jane's arms, under a shrub, or in a tree, it didn't matter. Living was the rhythm of Jane's heart against her back, the sensation of Jane's breath rolling across her neck, whispered _I love yous_, and tender kisses. Maura wanted one more night of that and as many one more nights as she could steal from Gabriel Dean. To have it, she would have to get up. She looked up again and the shadow was gone.

"No, I'm not giving up," Maura croaked, her throat hoarse, as she braced against Jane and struggled to her feet.

* * *

><p>"Oh, what I wouldn't give for a drink!" Haymitch spat, looking up at the open sky, arms outstretched as he spun in a circle. "Anyone<em>!" If I have to be this damn hot, and probably drop dead from it, I should at least be allowed to go with a flask in my hand.<em>

"Is this all you got!" He yelled again, kicking the nearest tree and then crumpling to the ground as he grabbed his now aching foot. "Son of a…"

Haymitch knew he wasn't much loved in the Capitol. Sure, the Capitol citizens had a tender spot for victors…young, attractive victors. Victors that wore the honor of their reaping and success in the arena like a badge. Victors that showed up every year bathed and polished, combed and made up, and dressed in their finery. Victors that dutifully allowed themselves to be paraded around like show ponies for the citizens' amusement. Not so much victors that stumbled in drunk, cursing, and indignant. He wasn't supposed to be here. Victors were supposed to be safe. He was supposed to be allowed to collect his prize, drink himself into oblivion, and show up here once a year for the rest of his life to do his duty.

"Screw you!" He yelled at no one and everyone. The cameras would be broadcasting this little tirade to all of Panem, he hoped. No sponsors were going to step up for him anyway. They never were. He was the only victor from District 12. When the Quarter Quell announcement was made he didn't have to suffer the weeks of not knowing until the Reaping. In some strange way, he was thankful for that. He spent those weeks in between drinking every ounce of booze that he could find. Ripper didn't even charge him for the white liquor. They felt sorry for him: the people from the district. But, the same wasn't true of the people from the Capitol. He had no mentor to wrangle gifts from sponsors, not that any would likely have obliged. They were probably wondering how he had lasted this long. Truth be told, Haymitch Abernathy wondered the same himself.

"I'm losing my mind," he muttered.

He pulled out his canteen and drained the last of his water. He'd worked hard to get that canteen, biding his time at the Cornucopia when he knew he should probably just run and forsake the supplies. That's what he was going to do…run. But when the pedestal popped up out of the ground into that near barren wasteland and that stifling heat, he knew the packs would have water in them. He hit the ground and crept through the grass, waiting patiently until the victors from Districts 9 and 10 mortally wounded each other, and he grabbed the pack they were fighting for and ran. Yes, he'd worked hard for that indeed, the other tributes always underestimated cunning.

And now, it was empty. And he'd had yet to find a water source save for the two bouts of rain.

Haymitch pulled the long strip of blue silk from his backpack and ran the soft fabric between his fingers. He had hoped some real use for it would reveal itself, but so far it had only served to blot his sweaty brow. It had nothing to do with home and its intended purpose had not yet presented itself. "Some token…" he mumbled, looking up as the sun morphed into the deep orange it always took as it began to set. Another night in the arena was falling.

* * *

><p>The sound of rustling jarred her awake. Maura awoke waving the dagger in her hand wildly, slicing at the air in front of her.<p>

"Whoa! Easy there…" Jane chuckled as she knelt next to her and slipped the dagger from her hand.

"I fell asleep…"

"Yeah," Jane nodded, "but I wasn't far away. And I found dinner…well, I think it can be dinner."

Maura cocked an eyebrow as Jane reached for her pack and produced a tortoise. The shell was round and notched along the edges but that was virtually all that could be seen as the creature had almost fully retracted inside its shell for safety.

"It was just…plodding along. So, I picked it up and stuffed it in my bag. We can eat it, right?" Jane asked, peering into the opening where the head was hiding, beady eyes glistened when a stray beam of light caught them.

"Reminiscent in appearance to Geochelone sulcata, or, African spurred tortoise, extinct for quite some time. Yes, we can eat it. A fire will char the shell and make it easier to crack, but it should be more humanely dispatched first," Maura reached for the dagger and drove it swiftly into the space under the tortoise's head. Blood trickled out over the lip of the shell. "Now you can cook it."

* * *

><p>Maura finally took a moment to look at the ring Jane had slipped on her finger during the storm the previous night. It was simple, but beautiful; Maura turned it round and round on her finger.<p>

Jane watched for a moment and then abandoned the roasting tortoise to sit beside her. "Are you upset? That I didn't tell you sooner?"

Maura shook her head, "No." She wrapped Jane's arms around her and settled back into the embrace. "You were just trying to protect me. He's…not a good man."

"No, but he loved your mother…and he loves you," Jane let her head settle against Maura's.

"It was him, you know," Maura thought back to the night Frankie had died. "It was him that stopped the whipping and carried me home."

If she hadn't been in so much pain, it would have been terrifying to look up and into the eyes of Head Peacekeeper Patrick Doyle. She was in his arms and everything went black. Hands…a gentle touch. She remembered the feeling of them, stroking through her hair and holding her hand. _Take care of her, whatever it costs, you'll be paid._ Had it been Doyle's voice that said the words? His touch reassuring her through the pain-induced delirium? His money that had paid for the doctor that night?

"What else did he say?"

Jane closed her eyes and kissed Maura on the cheek, "He asked me to get you home."

Maura grabbed her side and held it as she sat up, sometimes the pressure helped minimize the constant ache and shooting pain when she moved. She crawled into Jane's lap and straddled her, hands stroking down dust and ash covered cheeks as she leaned in and pressed her lips to Jane's.

"I wish…" she whispered in Jane's ear, "…I wish we were really alone, that they couldn't see us. I wish…I could be with you one more time, feel you inside me, lose myself to your touch…it's only you and me and nothing else exists in that moment." Maura leaned back and wiped the tears that streaked through the grime on Jane's face.

Jane smiled, she wished for the same thing too. She took Maura's left hand and wrist and pulled it from her cheek. The white silk tied around her forearm was indelibly stained with the arena. Smiling, she ran her fingers over the fabric. It didn't feel like silk anymore. It was worn, threadbare and ragged on the loose ends where it was tied, stiff to the touch where sweat and blood had dried, washed away and then dried again.

"Take it off," Maura asked, nodding with a smile as Jane looked up at her reluctantly. "Just, take it off." Jane complied and Maura took the silk and tied it around Jane's arm in return.

"Do you think he knew?" Jane smiled as she looked at the cloth now tied around her arm, dirty and rank yet no stain could temper its true beauty, what it meant. "Cinna?"

Maura kissed her again, deeper this time, her tongue seeking purchase in Jane's mouth and Jane granting it. "Of course he did," she answered, their lips brushing as she spoke. "The same way my…biological father…knew when he gave you this ring."

"I wish I could give you more…" Jane clutched desperately at Maura, watching over her shoulder as the sun continued to set. Another night to lead into another day of uncertainty and struggle.

"Jane," Maura anchored her hands against Jane's chest and pushed back, "You've given me everything I've ever wanted."

Maura's hand was dry and cracking; Jane held it delicately and stroked down her ring finger, over the band and back up again. "If I succeed in getting you home. Will you still wear it?"

Maura laced her fingers with Jane's and squeezed, "I'll never take it off. It's always been you, only you…there will never be another."

The orange sky began to streak with pink and blue. The arena was quiet save for the crackling fire as the wood popped and their dinner cooked, filling the air around them with a smoky, savory smell. Maura let her forehead rest against Jane's and took a deep breath.

"Jane, I want you to promise me something…If my wound gets too bad or I get sick…If all you can do is carry me…If I'm a burden," she paused and looked in Jane's eyes.

"Nothing about you is a burden to me," Jane began to protest.

Maura placed her thumb over Jane's lips to silence her, "I want you to leave me. Don't watch. Don't let that be your last memory of me. Just let me go."

"No," Jane stated resolutely.

Maura sniffled, "You could still go home."

Jane shook her head as her hands massaged down Maura's neck, over her shoulders and down her arms until she grasped each hand and kissed them in turn, "Without you, I have nothing to go home to."


	16. What Lies Ahead

**Author's note: **Just to be on the safe side, I'm throwing an additional content warning in for mention of what happened to victors in the past. This coincides with previous mention of Jane's treatment by Hoyt. Also, some spoilers for actual Hunger Games book characters revealed in Mockingjay.

**CH 16: What Lies Ahead**

Jane awoke lethargic, nauseous, and with a crick in her neck to boot. The tortoise for dinner the previous night had been filling, almost too filling. Her stomach had contracted over the days with so little food and she'd stuffed it to bursting with tortoise meat. The bark of the tree she was leaned up against was coarse and scratchy against her neck; she craned her head from side to side and felt the vertebrae crackle. Maura was still cradled in her arms asleep. It was early yet, the sun just beginning to rise behind her. Rays of light like long bony fingers crept past her pushing the dawn fog back and leaving the familiar humidity in its wake. The arena was revealed again in all its torturous glory.

"Ok, Maura…we need to get going," Jane gave her a gentle shake to rouse her.

Nothing.

"Maura? Come on, time to wake up." She put her hand on Maura's cheek to give her a pat and pulled it back with a start. Again she set her palm flush against Maura's cheek and felt the boiling heat radiate off of her skin.

Frantically, Jane shifted Maura to the ground and rolled her shirt and jacket up. The bottom layer of fabric stuck to yellowish-green puss at the wound site and tore up bits of dead skin and scab as Jane removed it. Red tendrils streaked and spiraled out from the wound. Jane's trembling fingers traced the claws of infection over Maura's ribs and stomach and up her chest.

"Wake up, Maura! Wake up!" She screamed, not caring if any other tributes might be in the vicinity. It couldn't be like this. Maura wasn't allowed to just slip away in the night, no goodbye, no last kiss, no final I love you. "Wake up!" Jane shrieked. Rearing back she slapped Maura across the face with all of her strength. The snap of the flat of her hand against Maura's skin made her wince, but when she opened her eyes, tear-filled hazel eyes looked back up at her.

"Ow," Maura whispered, her lip trembling as she reached to touch the stinging sensation on her cheek and jaw.

Jane gathered her into her arms, kissing the enflamed skin, "You wouldn't wake up; you wouldn't wake up…"

"I'm dying," Maura mumbled as Jane laid her back down.

"No," Jane shook her head in disbelief; she held the canteen to Maura's lips and tilted her head up to help her drink. When she sputtered, unable to drink anymore, Jane dribbled the water on her face to soothe her throbbing cheek and wash the ashy remnants the fire's smoke had left throughout the night.

It took every ounce of strength she had, but Maura managed to prop herself up on one elbow to look down at the wound. "I have an infection."

"I know what blood poisoning is, Maura," Jane let her hands settle gently around the now festering wound. She wanted to do terrible things, tear the rotten flesh away with her bare hands, open her own veins and give Maura her blood if it would matter. She knew it wouldn't.

"Bacteria was introduced into the wound tract…" she couldn't hold herself up any longer, her elbow gave out and she dropped back to the ground with a thud and a small groan. "…either from the dagger, the flood, anything it could have been anything; it doesn't matter. The bacteremia has gone septic, the physical signs are readily visible," she pointed to the red streaks, "and I have a fever. My systemic inflammatory response to the infection will get worse…increasing temperature, elevated heart and respiratory rate resulting in respiratory distress and in the final stages of septic shock, multiple organ failure."

Jane buried her face in her hands, "How long?" she sobbed, giving in. This is what happened in the arena after all. People died, and sometimes it wasn't quickly.

"A few days, two or three at the most," Maura answered meekly, reaching for Jane. Now she was crying, tears soaking her face making the skin and everything behind it burn even hotter, she couldn't hide behind the cold formality of the medical language anymore, the realization was all too stark, "When I said last night just to leave me…I…I didn't mean it, please don't leave me," she pleaded.

The fear and desperation in her voice sliced into Jane, hot and cold at the same time, disconnecting everything and blurring the lines between anger, fear, love, and loathing. "Shh…shhh," Jane scooped her up once again and held her in a crushing embrace, "I would never leave you."

* * *

><p>Not only was he unlucky enough to be reaped at the age of sixteen in the Second Quarter Quell, he'd been unlucky enough to be born with a liver fit for scientific study that had outlasted his boozing all the years since to keep him alive to be reaped for the Third Quarter Quell.<p>

_On the seventy-fifth anniversary, to remind the rebels that no one is immune to the power of the Capitol – not the strongest among you, not those complacent in their daily lives – the tributes will be reaped: One from the district's existing pool of victors and one from an all gender and age inclusive pool of the district's citizens age twelve and higher._

He could still hear President Hoyt's smug voice as he read it. The Quarter Quell cards were supposed to have been written at the development of the Hunger Games. An infinite number of cards for as many Quells as would come along, had the Capitol been so full of hubris they really thought Panem would last forever? Haymitch didn't believe it for a second. The reaping of victors, the higher age range for the other tributes, it all reeked of Charles Hoyt's mania and Gabriel Dean's complicity. The President wouldn't live to see the Fourth Quarter Quell. He wasn't a young man anymore and Haymitch noted each year how the crags in his face deepened. Whispers around the Capitol spoke of some mysterious illness that made him putrid, which was why he bathed in cologne that could never quite mask the acrid stench. Haymitch preferred to think it was Hoyt's own intrinsic evil that was eating its way through him. He hoped it was excruciating.

He did things to them: the victors, after they won. Haymitch was glad in some respects he was from District 12. He never told his mentees what might await them if they won, because no one from District 12 ever had a chance. _Let them go to the arena with dreams of victory and the safety that follows, no matter how false they may be._ That was his motto.

They didn't need to know. They didn't need to know how President Hoyt had ordered his mother, younger brother and girlfriend murdered when he returned home from the Second Quell, the same with Johanna Mason's family. Or how Vince Korsak's wife had been abducted and probably turned into an Avox in the Capitol. The girls didn't need to look into Hoyt's eyes at the Opening Ceremony and know that he had raped Jane Rizzoli himself and sold Finnick Odair as a prostitute to the ravenous sexual desires of the Capitol's citizens year after year since his victory. Rondo had had a son, at Hoyt's orders a Peacekeeper had ripped him from his mother's breast and smashed his skull. That was the President Hoyt the victors knew.

The Third Quarter Quell was Hoyt's last chance, his last chance to torture his victors in the cruelest way. Haymitch wondered if Hoyt just wanted them all to die, or if he had cooked up the Quell proceedings for someone in particular. He looked at the blue silk token tied around his wrist that Korsak had slipped to his stylist to give him. They had both lost those that they loved the most and had been forced to return year after year with the sacrifices from their districts. At least the Quarter Quell was something they wouldn't share in the same way. "I'm glad you're not here, old friend." Haymitch whispered into the arena.

* * *

><p>"I'm gonna set you down for a minute." Jane tried to look over her shoulder at Maura but all she could see were a few loose wisps of her hair. Maura only grunted. She had contemplated staying where they had camped the previous night, but it was too open. They needed somewhere they could hole up for a few days: somewhere with decent cover that would hide Maura while she scavenged for food and water. Jane had to try hard not to think about why her plans only had a two-day arc now. She backed slowly up to a small tree and sandwiched Maura between the trunk and her back. The lesson earlier had been painful; Maura had no strength left to stand for even a moment when Jane shrugged her off her back.<p>

"Stopping?" Maura mumbled deliriously.

"Yeah," Jane turned and caught her before she slid down the trunk.

"I'm too heavy."

Jane eased her to the ground and held the canteen to her lips, "You're light as a feather, it's just really hot. Time for a water break."

"You never drink any," Maura croaked as she gulped down the sun-warmed liquid.

"I didn't realize you were keeping track," Jane smiled, running her hand through the copious sweat on Maura's brow to brush her loose hair back and plaster it to her head.

"I'm not…completely out of my mind…yet," Maura managed a smile and small laugh. "Please…drink some," she wrapped her hands around Jane's and pushed the canteen back.

"There's not much left."

For what she lacked in the strength to stand, her grip was surprisingly strong, Maura pushed against the canteen again, "Please."

Jane leaned in and kissed the tear away from her cheekbone before taking a swig. She tried to play it up, make it look like a generous gulp. In reality, she pressed her tongue against the canteen's mouth and blocked the flow, only taking in a trickle. "Happy?" Maura nodded.

Every bit of work Cinna had done had been blasted away by the arena. Maura reached out and ran her hands down Jane's sunburned and exhausted face, noted how her hair had gone brittle, dulled by the sun, and fell out in clumps each time Jane adjusted her ponytail. "You're still beautiful."

Jane didn't protest. She imagined if she looked as bad as she smelled, beautiful was the furthest from the right word to describe her appearance. Once soft lips were dry and rough with blood-filled cracks. She didn't care as she pressed her lips to Maura's; the kiss was just as sweet and energizing as every one before it had been.

"Jane…" Maura let her head slump to Jane's shoulder and burrow into her neck, "…when you were a little kid, what did you dream about?"

Her back was too sore to piggyback Maura for a while; Jane hoisted her up into her arms and started walking again, "Leaving District 8 with no restrictions. Seeing all of Panem and whatever lay beyond it. I wanted to be an explorer…like in those old children's books. What about you?"

Maura's hand tightened on the sweat-drenched bit of Jane's tank top in her grasp, "The same."

Jane kissed the top of Maura's head, "But, now, I'd be happy to be back home and never leave. If I could spend every day there with you." She paused but there was no response. Maura had slipped back into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p><em>Sometimes it's just almost too easy<em>. Haymitch squatted behind some scrub and watched as Giovanni, completely drained of color, retched over and over again into the bush he had ostensibly been picking berries from. He knew he had seen the meathead mechanic from District 6 pairing off with the Careers at training. He watched, but saw no sign of Casey or Ian. Satisfied the younger tribute posed no threat, he stood and walked cautiously towards him.

"That's why I never eat the plants in the arena," Haymitch clucked his tongue as he spoke. "Better to only eat meat…bugs…but even some of those can be foul."

Giovanni rolled over clutching his stomach. Sweat began to drip excessively from his face as he recognized the position he was in. Neither his pack nor his weapons were within reach.

Haymitch took a knee by the bush, keeping a wary eye on the sickened man writhing near him and plucked a plump berry from a sagging twig. He squeezed the tiny, dark purple marble between his fingers and sniffed it. "That'll do it. The Gamemakers love these. They're in every Games. The plant always looks different, so that it blends in to the arena, but the berries are always the same."

"If I'm going to die, just kill me and get it over with," Giovanni gritted his teeth and curled his knees into his stomach to try and stifle the pain.

Haymitch chuckled, "Oh, the berries won't kill you. No doubt those poor morphling addicts you were stuck with as mentors didn't much bother to teach you about the hazardous plants; but, you lucked out. This isn't nightlock, another favorite of the Gamemakers. No, you'd already be dead if that was the case. They like this berry for the suffering, but it wears off eventually."

Giovanni panted as he tried to still his breathing and watched as Haymitch made his way to where his pack was discarded several feet away. "Aren't you going to kill me?" Now, he was confused.

Information. Information could be as useful a weapon in the arena as any blade or bow. "I thought you ran off with the Careers at the Cornucopia?"

"I did," Giovanni rolled to his side and curled into a fetal position. "It was all a ruse."

"A ruse!" Haymitch guffawed. "Now, there's a smart word for a mechanic."

"I'm not as dumb as I look," Giovanni growled from between clenched teeth.

"Not as smart as you think," Haymitch countered, wiping the berry juice on his pants.

"The Careers always take the supplies. They were planning to have Wiress and Bodie take the land mines from the Cornucopia and booby trap the supply stock. There was a map. I memorized it; the only other one that bothered was Bodie. I waited until everyone was gone and Bodie was near the supplies, I tripped some of the explosives, killing him and then I ran. They have all those supplies, but unless they've figured out their own trap, they can't get to most of them."

"Hmph," Haymitch chuckled as he knelt next to Giovanni's pack. "And the map?"

"I didn't need it. Came across the two hot chicks from District 8 and gave it to one of them."

Haymitch's head snapped towards Giovanni at the mention of Jane and Maura, "District 8, how long ago did you see them?"

"I don't know," Giovanni rolled to his stomach and threw up again but nothing was left to come out so he dry heaved for a minute until the irritation subsided. "Days and days ago."

_Water. Dried fruit. Jerky. Buck Knife._ Haymitch transferred the contents of Giovanni's pack to his own. "I'm not going to kill you. In your condition? Wouldn't be sporting." He'd lingered long enough. If he knew Casey Jones and Ian Faulkner they'd be on the hunt for vengeance and he didn't intend to be anywhere near Giovanni Gilberti when they found him.

* * *

><p>The once spartan savannah had grown dense with brush as Jane pushed on in search of a halfway decent place to settle Maura and hide. But, none of it was like the raisin bush they had sheltered under the first night. The plants were all parched, the heat melting the leaves from their branches. Some of the larger ones were nothing but sharp thorns and thistles.<p>

Jane began to stagger under the heat and the weight of Maura. She'd tried every imaginable position: piggyback, in her arms and now slung up on her hip with Maura using what little energy she had to wrap her legs around Jane's waist. When she tripped and fell they would rest for a few moments and then she'd grit her teeth and gather her up once more and push on.

Maura had suggested making a litter with some of the smaller saplings and the tarp. Jane didn't see how that would really be less tiring for her, either she carried Maura or she dragged her, either way it was all dead weight. But, the real reason she dismissed the idea, what she didn't want to tell Maura, was that if they only had two more days she wanted every moment of that time to feel Maura's skin against her own and her breaths, however shallow, against her neck.

The boxwood and whistling thorn with its piercing barbs were starting to give way to kinder bushes, the smatterings of white, yellow and pink flowers were almost a welcome sight, if Jane could have mustered the feelings to admire them.

"Maura," Jane adjusted her grip, making sure Maura wasn't about to slip out of her arms, "I think we're almost to a clearing."

"Just…mmmm," Maura took a deep breath to stifle the moan, "stop and make camp. I need to lay down."

Jane pushed the last swoop of brush away and stepped into a small clearing and no more than fifteen feet from Barry Frost. He reacted immediately; jumping to his feet, sickle in hand.

"Shit!" Jane reached for one of the daggers on her belt as she shrugged Maura off her hip, holding her tightly against her body as Maura threatened to sag to the ground.

Neither moved as they assessed the other. Both weapons were close range, really best for hand to hand combat, though Frost had duly noted Jane's prowess with throwing hers if need be.

Maura struggled but found footing on the ground and turned her head to finally take notice of the threat. "Hello, Barry," she said with the nonchalance of greeting an old friend.

"Maura," he nodded, his hand still trembling nervously as he stood at the ready.

Every muscle in Jane's body tightened, Maura could feel them all flexing and going rigid under her touch. Her eyes raked down Jane's arm to the outstretched dagger. She reached for it, her hand settling on Jane's wrist and trying to push it down, "Jane…this is Barry. He volunteered…like you."

"I'm aware of that, Maura," Jane whispered angrily between gritted teeth, her hand not lowering against Maura's feeble attempt to get her to stand down.

"Jane…please…I need to…" Maura sank to her knees, keeping herself from full collapse by wrapping her arms around Jane's legs.

"She's hurt?" Frost asked, glancing down at Maura.

"Not as bad as you'll be if you come near her," her right hand now free of Maura she pulled another knife from her belt.

Everything had been a gamble to that point, what was one more. Frost looked down at Maura and caught her eye; her lips moved silently, he could swear she was telling him to lower his weapon. He looked at his reaping blade and then back at Jane. What would they do? Stand there for hours until they passed out from exhaustion or finally attacked.

"Seems to me, we have something interesting in common," he started. Jane's eyebrow twitched but she didn't respond. "So, we can either kill each other, or…" Frost took a deep breath and opened his hand, letting the sickle fall to the ground, "…we can be partners. There are still Careers out there."

_Alliances can buy you time_. Korsak's voice rang through her head. Jane sheathed one dagger, paused, and then slowly the other. There was something about the sincerity in his voice and a kind truth in his eyes. Tributes lied and deceived all the time, yet, she didn't have the feeling that this Barry Frost was playing her. Scooping Maura up she carried her towards the fire setup Frost had been working on and set her down, cradling her head in her lap.

"Do you have any water?" Jane asked reluctantly. Frost nodded and tossed her his canteen. "Here, Maura, drink…"

"Got any food?" He asked in return.

"Some nuts and edible berries," Jane chucked one of their packs at him.

It took a tremendous amount of self-control but Frost managed not to shove handfuls of nuts in his mouth at a time, he watched as Jane dribbled water into Maura's mouth drop by drop. "How bad is she?" Jane looked up and only shook her head.

"I'm dying," Maura offered, pushing the canteen away, "now you. Jane hasn't accepted it yet." Maura lifted her shirt and flashed the infected wound.

"Maybe, I just don't like saying the words," Jane said softly, stroking Maura's face.

* * *

><p>As afternoon bled into evening and finally once more into the black of night the three settled around the fire. Jane didn't even care about the light. The fire meant she could see Maura. She smiled as the flickering waves danced across Maura's eyes.<p>

"Why are you smiling?" Maura asked with a small laugh.

Jane's hands settled softly on her face, her thumbs swiping back and forth across the feverish skin, "You don't look so sick by firelight."

"Hmm," Maura laughed again, the faint smile on her lips fading as she nodded off.

Frost watched the scene before him. It seemed particularly unsettling. Tributes occasionally came to the Games as acquaintances, sometimes they even forged friendships through the necessity of survival, but they didn't come to the Games in love with one another. He had volunteered because he couldn't bear to watch from home. The thought of being in Jane's position in the Games, settled with a terrible sadness in his chest.

"What are you going to do, when she…" he didn't want to finish the question, but Jane didn't seem to be shrinking from it.

Jane closed her eyes for a moment and then looked at Frost across the flames, "If you're still alive…and we're still…partners…I'm going to ask you to kill me."

He laughed, unsure of her sincerity, "Are you…are you being serious?"

Jane nodded, "I'll help you take out the Careers. But, when it's just you and me…" she reached to quickly wipe the tears that spilled out. _Don't be weak._ "Without her, I have nothing. No purpose. Nothing to look forward to. I can't go home to that life of emptiness."

"Maybe…she won't die," he wanted to take it back as soon as he said it. False hope.

"And maybe President Hoyt will tell them to stop the Games and we'll all be saved," Jane leaned down and pressed her lips to Maura's forehead. "Why did you volunteer?"

Frost poked at the fire and watched the embers swirl into the black, "They reaped my cousin, Rue. She was twelve, almost thirteen. But still, they would have sent a child into this special hell."

"They did send children," Jane countered.

"Not my cousin," Frost shook his head. "Not my little bird. Not when all I had to do was volunteer to take her place. Let Ian Faulkner throw his spear at me, let Casey Jones swing his ax. Rue is home, dancing across the branches of the orchard trees, singing her songs and whistling the evening quitting time call."

"And you're here."

Frost nodded, "And so are you."

Jane chuckled and looked down at Maura, running her fingers through her damp and dingy hair. She looked back up at Frost and smiled, "I guess we make pretty good partners after all."


	17. Allies and Temptation

**CH 17: Allies and Temptation**

In the back of her mind Jane could hear something moving. The arena was taking its toll, dulling her senses, slowing her reaction time. There had been too many days with too little food and water. She felt like she was wilting in the heat, slowly drying out until there would be nothing but the parched dust of bones left. The noise again, a crackling, like twigs snapping and the desiccated shells of dehydrated leaves and grass crunching under foot.

Jane finally awoke with a start, her hand flying to one of the daggers on her belt. She'd never intended to fall asleep to begin with. She was determined to stay awake for every moment that Maura had left. When Maura died, there would be nothing left but sleep.

"Whoa, it's just me, partner," Frost held up his hands and took a seat by the burned out fire. He tossed a couple of dead lizards towards her and shook loose a bunch of nuts that were stuffed in his jacket. "Breakfast."

Maura's breath rolled laboriously and intermittently across Jane's arm that was supporting her head. Jane hovered over her, holding her palm against Maura's cheek and forehead and then kissing her temple. "Wake up, Maura," she said softly, giving her a gentle shake until weary eyes responded and slowly crept open.

"Water…" Maura coughed as Jane eased her into a sitting position.

"There's maybe one good draw left in my canteen," Frost tossed it to Jane.

Jane pressed her lips to Maura's hair, held her tightly, and closed her eyes as the last of the water was drained. "We've got to have water."

* * *

><p>He'd given up on trying to remember from which direction he'd come or in which direction he was going. Haymitch had been right, the berries hadn't killed him, but they had sapped the last ounce of energy that he had and along with it most of his will to live. Giovanni wished he had died back in the berry grove. In truth, he'd never expected to get as far as he had. His main goal was accomplished: pull one over on the Careers. He was just a mechanic, maybe not a total meathead like so many of the others thought, but on the same token he was no Casey Jones, Haymitch Abernathy, or Jane Rizzoli. Strength he had, and just enough cunning to get him this far, but he'd spent a lifetime watching the Games and he was smart enough to know when it came to the remaining victors against himself…well, he'd gotten a long way for a mechanic from District 6.<p>

Circles. He couldn't be sure; everything looked the same. He leaned against a tree and slid down to the ground. Rob would probably be made head mechanic at Hovercraft Plant number Five. In fact, he probably already was.

_It's gonna be me._ Over and over he said it as the escort walked across the stage to the large vessels that held all the names. It was his last year and his luck wasn't that good. _It's gonna be me._ Giovanni glanced over towards the crowd of parents where his father stood, the makeshift patch over his eye, the burn scars that crawled down his face and neck to the stump where his arm used to be. _Too many tesserae._ He hadn't wanted to count them until that moment as the escort's hand began to fish through the jar. One tessera for each family member every year for the past six years since a faulty fuel line on a transport craft had blown in the repair factory and cost his father his job. _There was no choice; we would have all starved. It's gonna be me. No one has more chances than me._

She pulled out the slip: _For the boys, Juan Dominguez_. Juan Dominguez was thirteen; he had two slips in the jar. Ian Faulkner killed him the second day of the Games.

"Sweet dreams?"

The voice pulled Giovanni out of the distant memory. He looked up into the smug visage of Ian Faulkner, no longer a teenage boy, still every bit as ruthless as he was all those years ago.

"It was you, you know," Giovanni started as he struggled to his feet, reaching around his back to grip the dagger a sponsor had sent after Haymitch had robbed him. A debt paid, the map and two spared lives in exchange for a chance to defend himself and live another day. "My last year in the Reaping. That was your year; the year you were Victor. I remember being so grateful to go home with my family that afternoon and watching the replay of the Reapings from the other districts and wondering how…why…anyone would volunteer."

Ian smirked, one corner of his mouth turning up while the other stayed strangely still; he set his spear aside and instead pulled a large hunting knife from his belt and held the flat of the cool blade against his cheek as he stared at his next victim, "For the riches…for the glory." Now, he smiled completely and gave a laugh that cut as deep as Giovanni knew the dagger in his hand would, "For the fun of it."

* * *

><p>BOOM.<p>

Jane and Frost froze and looked around, but save for the canon blast the arena was silent.

"Who do you think it was?" Jane asked.

Frost used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the moisture from his brow that was stinging his eyes as it dripped, "Haymitch or Giovanni."

"That dress was hideous," Maura mumbled into Jane's neck. She stirred, turning in Jane's arms as she rolled and sat up in her lap.

"What dress?" Jane asked, checking Maura's fever and finding as she always did that it seemed to only grow hotter.

"I'm still boiling, you can stop checking," Maura swatted at her hand. "That dress…that you wore the year you were reaped. I just remembered it…"

She always looked for Jane. Every year as they lined up, she looked for her, so she'd know exactly where she was in case one of their names was called. They never seemed to be far from each other at the Reaping, a few people to the right or left, or in front or behind. _I'm going to kiss her_, Maura thought. _If they call my name, I'm going to kiss her._ It had only been a few years since that kiss on the playground, but few words had been traded between in the meantime. Maura touched her lips and recollected how soft and tentative Jane's lips had felt against her own, how they would feel if she were kissing them for the last time. But, Gaia Baldrick didn't call her name; she called Jane's.

_Kiss her. Run to her, grab her and kiss her._ It felt like a nest of Tracker Jackers had been loosed in her chest, the barbs of their stingers piercing her from the inside out, the poison making her feel faint and wishing for it to all be a dream. She watched Jane walk forward in that ill-fitting, pastel floral-print dress. Stoic. There was only the sound of Jane's footsteps on the concrete and the din of the beasts in her chest about to burst. She didn't move. And then Jane was on the stage. And then she was gone.

"I was going to kiss you, at the Reaping, if they called my name," Maura continued. "But, they called your name and I just stood there, completely immobilized by the horror."

"I'm glad you didn't," Jane pressed her lips to the salty skin under Maura's ear and kissed her. "It would have broken me."

Maura took a deep breath and tucked her head under Jane's chin, "Your dress was still hideous."

Jane and Frost had a hearty laugh. "Not everyone had a mother and father who were the overseers for the largest factory in the district, you know. Some of us had mothers who couldn't sew their way of out of a bag of thread."

"Jane…" Maura shifted in her arms again, restless and in pain, "…you said once, that your mother used to sing to you."

She let Maura continue to wriggle until she was cradling her in her arms. Her forehead fell to Maura's and she nodded, "She used to sing a lullaby, something old from before the Dark Days. It was about Guardian Angels watching over you. She said a long time ago people believed in angels and an all-knowing, all-loving God that watched over them."

A faint smile played at the corners of Maura's mouth as her fingers reached for Jane's face and tapped across her cheek, "I believe in angels."

Jane shook her head, "The God she told me stories about wouldn't let this happen."

Under the nourishing strokes of Maura's touch, Jane let her head fall until their lips met. She pushed her tongue past Maura's lips and drowned herself in the momentary illusion that they weren't in the arena…they were back home, in the garden of the Victor's Village under a summer sun. It was a day like any other day. A day that would yield to the one after and the one after it. Days that would stretch on for weeks and months and years of them waking up next to one another. Maura would make her dresses and Jane would fix things. They would even take a kitten from one of Korsak's charity missions and keep it as a pet.

"Mmm," Maura smiled, breaking the kiss. "Maybe, we were meant to be here together. Maybe, I die and you win and you fulfill my last wish."

"What would that be?" Jane whispered.

Maura pulled Jane closer until her lips brushed the outside of her ear, softly she whispered so that no camera in the arena could possibly register her voice, "Don't let this happen again. End the Games."

_End the Games._ The words sent a spark raging through her. _But, how?_ Jane caressed Maura's face and began to sing.

_Sleep my love, and peace attend thee_

_All through the night;_

_Guardian angels God will lend thee,_

_All through the night,_

_Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,_

_Hill and vale in slumber steeping,_

_I my loving vigil keeping,_

_All through the night._

_Angels watching ever round thee,_

_All through the night,_

_In thy slumbers close surround thee,_

_All through the night,_

_They should of all fears disarm thee,_

_No forebodings should alarm thee,_

_They will let no peril harm thee,_

_All through the night._

"Not a bad voice there, sweetheart!" Haymitch Abernathy announced as he strode into their camp.

Frost leapt to his feet, sickle in hand.

"Easy there, buckaroo," Haymitch feigned fear as he held up his hands. He turned his eyes to Jane, "I have been looking all over for you two." Noting Maura's gaunt appearance, the lack of color everywhere but where the fever flushed her bright red, the fact that she barely seemed cognizant of what was going on, he sighed and ran a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. "Don't tell me she's gone and gotten herself mortally wounded before I could even find you!"

Jane sent a dagger flying at him, but from her restricted position sitting on the ground, Haymitch was easily able to bend out of its way. He shook his head, "I remembered you for a better aim than that." Clucking his tongue he looked from Jane to Frost, "Now listen up, I'm going to reach into my jacket here and pull out my token and you're going to stand there and not thresh my head off like a piece of common wheat, ok?"

Frost eyed him suspiciously and then looked at Jane. With a cock of her head she told him to back off. He took a few steps back as Haymitch walked slowly forward, his hand digging through his jacket until he produced the strip of blue silk, which he tossed at Jane. The fabric landed in Maura's lap. Her fingers closed around it and rubbed the fabric with recognition.

Maura reached for Jane's wrist and fingered the tattered silk still tied around it, "Jane, it's the other half of the binding…from our costumes."

Jane's eyes widened as it all fell into place. The map that Giovanni had tossed to Maura when he could have killed them both, Frost's rapport with Maura when they had happened upon each other the previous day, and now Haymitch Abernathy.

_Korsak_, Jane mouthed.

"To the last, sweetheart," Haymitch nodded as he took a seat.

"It's ok, Frost," Jane motioned for him to stand down. "Haymitch…it would seem…is a friend."

"The very best kind," Haymitch chuckled, pointing to the sky as a silver parachute descended between them.

Jane nearly cried as the sponsor's gift revealed a large bladder of water, enough for the four of them for at least a day and a small vial of liquid. _Medicine._ "Maura! Medicine!" She twisted off the cap and held the tiny bottle to Maura's lips as the red liquid was drained. Jane turned the bottle over and over in her hands, but there was no writing, no indication of what it was.

Maura crinkled her nose at the taste, "Fever medicine," she mumbled.

It wouldn't heal her. It wouldn't stop the infection from continuing to ravage Maura's body. Jane was almost angry that Korsak had even sent it. He was just prolonging the agony. Haymitch handed Jane a small note that accompanied the gift. She opened the yellowed parchment to see Korsak's writing: _To buy you time_.

_To buy you time? _ Jane mulled over the words. Korsak knew the Games. _To buy you time._ It could only mean one thing. Something definitive was going to happen, and it was going to happen soon.

* * *

><p>By the early evening the heat seemed to have dissipated somewhat. Whether it was the actual temperature of the arena having lowered or that Maura was no longer simmering like a furnace, Jane couldn't be sure. She drenched the silk strip in some water and dabbed at Maura's face.<p>

"You should drink that water," Haymitch chastised.

"It's my part of the ration, I'll use it how I please," Jane retorted, not even bothering to look at him. If Korsak was going to go behind her back and arrange an alliance, the least he could have done was make a deal with someone…likable. But, for whatever reason, he trusted Haymitch, and Jane knew that besides Maura, there was no one she trusted more than Korsak. "How are you feeling?"

Maura smiled and let her hand fall to Jane's wrist to still it, "A little better. I think I'll last another day."

"Longer," Jane countered, returning to the cooling strokes of the cloth on Maura's face.

The cheery blare of trumpets echoed through the arena and startled them all. Jane and Haymitch looked at each other; they knew what the trumpet call signaled. _Korsak_, Jane thought, _he must have known this would be coming. The twist_. It didn't happen in every Games, but it was no surprise that Gabriel Dean would pull this stunt for the Quarter Quell.

The booming voice of Claudius Templesmith, the announcer for the Games, resounded through the savannah. "Tributes! Tributes! The days have been long and hot and many of you have fought valiantly and with great honor! Only seven remain. As a reward for your sacrifices, the Gamemakers offer you a feast! Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation…"

Jane snorted. Every feast offered a different incentive. Sometimes it was a feast in the truest sense of the word: a vast banquet spread of the Capitol's delicacies. In one Games the tributes had been given no weapons. When the killing did not proceed satisfactorily, the feast offered weapons to speed things along. She'd gone this long without food and they had weapons, Claudius would have to offer better than that to draw them to the Cornucopia.

"But this is no ordinary feast," he continued. "Each of you needs something…_**desperately.**_ Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance."

The discarded vial of fever medicine was only a foot away; Jane eyed it. _To buy you time_. She looked at Maura. _Each of you needs something desperately_. A sponsor hadn't sent the antibiotics that would heal Maura's sepsis because the Gamemakers knew that nothing else would draw her back to the Cornucopia.

Maura watched the tears streak down Jane's face, one carved down the bridge of her nose and fell to Maura's cheek, mingling with her own. "Please don't leave me," she whispered.

Jane wiped her eyes and pursed her lips, "I have to go. That medicine will save your life."

"And if the Careers are there?" Maura didn't even fight the tears as she reached for Jane's face.

"Then let them know terror and fury," Jane kissed away the briny tributaries that streaked Maura's weathered skin and enveloped her in an embrace that she knew could be the last.

"I'm going with you," Frost announced.

Jane shook her head, "The Careers will separate, they'll send one, maybe two, the third will look to pick off anyone that doesn't come…I need Maura protected until I get back."

"You go and get yourself killed…and she dies too," Haymitch stood and began to pack their supplies. "There are some trees fit for climbing and hiding in about a mile that way," he pointed in the direction from which he had come. "You've got that tarp and rope. Seems to me, between the three of us, we can haul her up in a tree, strap her to a branch and she'll be hidden. I'll stay behind, on the ground, lead anyone off that comes along. Sweetheart, you and Frost get to the Cornucopia under the cover of darkness. Get the packs, don't get dead, and get your asses back here, preferably without Casey Jones and Ian Faulkner in tow."

Jane gritted her teeth. Alone, the odds of besting Casey, Ian and Star at the Cornucopia were slight. With Frost's help, they might have a chance. She pulled Maura to her feet and squatted to hoist her onto her back. "Fine," she agreed. "And Haymitch…"

The elder victor-come-ally turned and locked eyes with her.

"Don't call me sweetheart."

* * *

><p><em>To the last.<em> It very well could be the last. _Fight to bring my daughter home? To my last breath._ Jane helped Maura ease down into the hammock they had hung between the branches of a leafy Marula tree. Frightened eyes looked up at her. They both knew it could be the last time; neither wanted to part as if it were.

Jane carefully lowered herself into the hammock next to Maura. Haymitch would be shouting any minute that she and Frost needed to get going. Her need to hold Maura, possibly one last time, was stronger than Haymitch's warnings.

"Kiss me," the words hung in Maura's throat as she wrapped her fingers in Jane's hair.

"No," Jane closed her eyes, "Not as if it's the last time."

"How about…like the first time?" Maura smiled. "You can kiss me…" she repeated the words she had said that day on the playground when they were twelve before their first Reaping.

Jane chuckled and leaned over her, letting the kiss linger heavily on her cheek. She stroked the spot with her thumb and watched some of the fear in Maura's eyes retreat. Tracing the edge of her jaw, Jane took Maura's chin between her thumb and forefinger and pressed their lips together. Sucking gently on Maura's lower lip, Jane snaked her hand under Maura's shirt and jacket to roam across the knotted scars on her back.

"I love you," Jane breathed into the last second of the kiss.

Maura pulled the ring Doyle had given Jane from her finger and brought Jane's left hand to her lips, kissing first the scar left by Hoyt seventeen years ago and then Jane's ring finger before she slipped the simple band onto the digit. "Whatever happens, we are bound to one another. Nothing in life, not even death will ever break that."

_To the last_. Maura fought the tears as she pushed Jane away. "Go, Jane. Go now." And though she didn't believe the words, she forced herself to say them anyway, "I'll see you when you get back."


	18. The Killing Field

**CH 18: The Killing Field**

Calluses grew by necessity across the heart of the man who planned death. For the new Gamemakers a Quarter Quell was initiation by fire. Even they had not been immune to the shock from the words that President Hoyt read from the card at the announcement broadcast so many weeks ago. The reaping of victors. But, Gabriel Dean had put in years as a warden of the Hunger Games. He had worked his way up through the ranks of the Gamemakers until he ascended to the position of primacy. And in his fourth year as such he had the privilege of planning the Third Quarter Quell. The revelation of the Quell had barely stirred a feeling except to reinforce the necessity of making these his best Games yet. A Games worthy of a Quell and the special tributes it would present.

It wasn't as difficult as he had thought it might be. The next arena was put under construction as soon as the previous Games ended. The circumstances of the Quarter Quell's Reaping were really irrelevant. He had known the people would expect an arena they had never seen before; they would want it harsh and brutal. So, he had designed the savannah. There had been a desert one year. Too many tributes died due to the elements rather than in combat with one another. The savannah was the perfect blend of maddening heat with just enough sustenance and resources to keep people alive until they could be snuffed by the blade of their human foes.

Day after day and night after night he had personally manned the control room, stealing away for intermittent bits of sleep as could be spared. The Capitol doctors supplied the potion that kept him awake the rest of the time. President Hoyt could be fickle, attaining position as Head Gamemaker had been hard fought, Gabriel Dean intended to keep it. To do so was about more than giving the citizens what they wanted; it was keeping Hoyt satisfied with how things unfolded as well. Perhaps him most of all. Gabriel Dean was a Gamemaker but he was not so naïve as to be oblivious to the fact that he was also a pawn.

That was where the circumstances of the Quarter Quell made his job immeasurably more difficult. He had but to look around the control room to see the signs of unease each time a victor perished. These men and women were the Capitol's heroes in a manner of speaking…legends. They were rewarded and honored for their sacrifices, worshipped as celebrities each year when the Games rolled around. And now they were dying. The hardest hearts amongst his fellow Gamemakers and their associates had not been prepared for that. Fleeting looks of dismay, gasps of disbelief, and even tears of sorrow fell from the eyes of those in the control room, though they were quickly reined in or wiped away. Associates brought him news of growing unrest throughout the Capitol, a pervasive and bitter distaste that was forming in the mouths of the viewers.

Dean touched the screen in front of him and brought up the night vision view. Jane Rizzoli. She was at the heart of this simmering discontent. An utterly forgotten victor for years, her Reaping had captured the intrigue of the Capitol. And then an unanticipated love story had played out in his arena. It was delightful to toy with at first; it absolutely enraptured the citizens as they watched. But, they had become invested…too invested, and now Head Gamemaker Gabriel Dean found himself in a precarious position. It didn't have to be life-saving medicine in that tiny bag marked with the number 8 at the mouth of the Cornucopia. But, it was. It was the only way to draw Jane out, the only way to put her at a disadvantage against the remaining tributes from Districts 1 and 2. The Capitol had been given a love story. They could be made to forget it. In order to do so, Jane Rizzoli and Maura Isles needed to die, and they needed to do so separate and alone, to flicker out like a forgotten ember, a fire with no capacity to burn.

* * *

><p>Using the night vision glasses that had been included in one of Jane's packs Frost led them to the edge of the tree line that spilled into the open plain that would take them to the Cornucopia. The night was still and unusually black. Jane looked up at the star-less sky and paused to wonder whether the extra darkness was a gift from the Head Gamemaker or an unsettling omen.<p>

"How much time until dawn, do you think?" Jane asked as she and Frost hunkered down behind a cluster of bushes.

"A couple of hours at least. I say we wait here for a little while and then crawl through the tall grass and wait for the daybreak."

Jane agreed. Her stomach rumbled suddenly and loudly. So loud that even Frost heard it and chuckled.

"I never knew it was possible to actually be hungrier than the hungriest I've been back in District 11," he offered.

Jane picked at the leaves of the bush in front of her and sniffed them, hoping maybe they had been lucky enough to find themselves squatted behind something edible. No such luck. "It must be really hard for you in 11. All that food around you and yet, you're not really allowed to have any of it."

"No different than in 8 I suppose," Frost countered. "When it's winter, do any of you get to wear the coats you make in the factories?"

Jane chuckled under her breath, "No. When the old and the poor die of hypothermia, they're too disoriented to even seek out help." She wondered if they even wanted it. Sometimes it was just easier to die. "What food makes you think of home?"

Frost was silent as he thought, "The smell of my mother's cornbread. Cornmeal is cheap, easy to get. But, my mother always seems to jazz it up. She works in the greens fields and is usually able to get the damaged leaves. Collards mostly. The Capitol doesn't want the wilted and the insect damaged leaves, but if you throw 'em in a pot long enough with pork necks and some peppers…they taste just fine. Especially served up over Mama's cornbread. That will always be the smell of home to me."

"Sounds good," Jane smiled. "For me it's Ma's gnocchi. They're like these little dumplings. My favorite is when she makes them with potato and her homemade tomato sauce."

The silent night hung disconcertingly around them. Jane brought the glasses to her eyes and stared out across the plain. Empty. She knew it wouldn't be for long. "Do you know any of the songs your cousin sings?"

"Yeah," Frost paused and closed his eyes and let the memory of the tune fill his mind on the air of Rue's far away sweet soprano. "I'm not as good a singer as her."

"I'd still like to hear it," Jane offered as she nudged Frost's shoulder with her own.

He cleared his throat and as pleasant a voice as Jane had ever heard floated out into the vacant night:

_Amazing grace! How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me._

_I once was lost, but now I'm found, was blind, but now I see._

'_Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved._

_How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed._

_Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come._

'_Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home._

_The Lord has promised good to me; His word my hope secures._

_He will my shield and portion be as long as life endures._

_Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail, and mortal life shall cease._

_I shall possess, within the veil, a life of joy and peace._

_The earth shall soon dissolve like snow, the sun forbear to shine._

_But God, who called me here below, will be forever mine._

_When we've been here ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun._

_We've no less days to sing God's praise, than when we'd first begun._

Jane smiled. _Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come. Indeed_.

* * *

><p>As the artificial dawn broke on the horizon, Jane and Frost peered through the dense and scratchy grass towards the giant metal horn in the center of the field. Suddenly it seemed as if no days at all had passed as an ominous feeling settled in her gut. The Cornucopia was molded from the blackest of steel, as Jane watched the first rays of light glint off its metallic exterior she saw nothing but a garish hallmark awash in red. This was a killing field; it was a wonder to her the ocean of grass in her view didn't sprout crimson as it was nourished by blood.<p>

The faux sun slowly illuminated the land before them until a rippling and glass-like mirage stilled and disappeared revealing a table surrounded by the yellow-grey of morning. Bags numbering five sat atop the table, clearly marked…District 1, District 2, District 8 - the smallest of them all, District 11, and District 12.

"This is it, partner," Jane looked at Frost with a forced smile as they each balled up their fists and pressed their knuckles together. "Cover me?" He nodded and like a flash Jane was up and running.

_You die. She dies. You die. She dies._ The words played on repeat as she ran and fueled her arms and legs to pump harder and faster. She took an off center approach to the table in order to grab the bags on the run, turn, and head back the way she came. The field was empty. Too empty.

She grabbed the three backpacks at the same instant the spear grazed her shoulder and loosed a flap of flesh in its wake. The unexpected strike and shooting pain sent her stumbling and before she could regain her footing Ian Faulkner hurtled into her, the force of the impact slamming her hard to the ground.

The grass hadn't taken on the color of spilled blood and death but the dirt her face was buried in had certainly taken on the taste and putrid stench of it. He was on her back, heavy and unmovable as he ripped her arms behind her so roughly Jane was sure he would tear her shoulders from their sockets. Two feet away, lying on the ground was the tiny bag with the number 8. _You die. She dies._

Jane screamed, a blood-curdling howl that frightened even herself as she bucked under his weight. And then the immobilizing force was gone, his fingers scratching the skin of her arms as the momentum of his removal pulled her along and flipped her onto her back.

Spitting dirt from her mouth and wiping it from her eyes, Jane looked over to see Frost and Ian grappling, limbs tangled and only differentiable from one another by the difference in skin tone. She reached for the dagger on her belt and leapt into the melee, one arm grabbing Ian in a chokehold as she tried to gain advantage to slide her blade across his throat. He twisted and pitched, his muscles straining as his size and strength kept her death move at bay. As Jane fought for position, her hand finally fell to his chest where she could feel the curved blade of Frost's sickle lodged deep in his flesh. With one final growl to rally every last ounce of energy she had Jane drove the blade of her dagger up to the hilt through Ian's neck.

"Just…die…" She spat through gritted teeth as the body underneath her finally gave way and rolled to the side. Blood gushed from his neck and mouth but his eyes had already glassed over and frozen. The parched ground drank up the crimson offering as it flowed.

BOOM.

"Frost…" Jane grabbed her partner's hands and held them. His chest was riddled with puncture wounds, the last blow still embedded in his breast. Tears trickled unceremoniously from the corners of his eyes as he coughed and blood sputtered from his mouth, dripping, drop by drop to mingle with Ian's blood. The killing field played no favorites; it claimed and supped on all equally.

"When…you win…" he held her hands tightly, "Tell Rue…I'd do it all over again. Tell her…when the mockingjays sing back the quitting call, that one of the voices on the breeze will be mine." Frost coughed, his body seizing. "Tell her."

"I will," Jane choked back the sobs as she spoke. "Thank you, partn…friend."

The second canon fired.

BOOM.

* * *

><p>Frost's backpack from the Cornucopia contained water, at least two gallons of it. She was thankful for it on the sweltering trek back to where she had left Maura and Haymitch the previous night. But, she would have forsaken the water to have Frost making the journey by her side. He had died to help her. She was in his debt now, a debt that couldn't be paid directly. Barry Frost from District 11 had renewed a faith in humanity she had long ago lost. His voice accompanied her through the oppressive savannah heat as she wearily followed the breadcrumbs they had left along the way: an almost unnoticeable notch in a tree, a twig in the ground where there were no bushes.<p>

_Amazing grace! How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me._

_I once was lost, but now I'm found, was blind, but now I see._

The lyrics began to overlap with Maura's words. _End the Games_. Jane stopped and looked up at the sky; she knew a host of cameras were filming her from every angle. _Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail, and mortal life shall cease. I shall possess, within the veil, a life of joy and peace. _She mouthed the words of the song to herself before she stretched her arms out and spoke, "These are MY Games! And they've only just begun!"

* * *

><p>The sun was setting as Jane trudged, sore and exhausted into the small clearing that had served as their camp. The tree Maura had been left in was a little farther, but Haymitch was to wait until the afternoon guarding Maura and then proceed back to meet her in the camp.<p>

She stopped and looked around. Empty. Straining for sound she slowly turned in all directions. Nothing. "Haymitch?" She called out at a normal volume. No answer. "Haymitch!" Louder this time, but she was yet again met with silence.

An eerie feeling swept over her. She had trusted Frost because Maura trusted Frost, that and the sincerity of the look in his eyes bespoke of someone without guile. Haymitch Abernathy was another story. Though Korsak trusted him, something about the man seemed off. Jane suddenly wondered what was contained in the backpack marked District 12. As she set off at a jog towards the tree where Maura had been hidden she tried to tell herself that Korsak wouldn't have arranged an alliance with Haymitch if there were any chance that he would hurt Maura. However, Jane found it hard to convince herself that Haymitch would risk his life to save her rather than cut and run if the opportunity presented itself.

The tree Maura had been left in was nearly impossible to climb without rope, and all of the rope had been used to string up the hammock between its branches. Jane pulled out her daggers and drove them forcefully into the bark and used them as hand and foot holds until she reached the lower branches. From there the climb was easier, branch after branch until the dull green of the tarp revealed itself above her head. Energized by the sight of it, Jane climbed faster until she pulled herself onto the branch that anchored the foot end of the hammock.

"I knew you'd make it back," Maura whispered as she labored to roll from her side onto her back.

Jane pulled the vial of medicine from the larger pack, filled a canteen with water and then hung the District 11 backpack on a broken branch off the trunk of the tree. "I got it, Maura. I got the medicine." She crawled into the hammock and ran her hand down Maura's red and sweat-slicked face.

"I…was trying so hard to hold on for you," Maura could barely speak. The fever had returned with a vengeance, her breath was ragged and strained.

"You did good." Wasting no more time, Jane plunged the syringe into her arm and then dribbled the water from the canteen into her mouth until Maura coughed and waved it off. She washed her face and unzipped Maura's jacket to run the water over her chest. "You're going to get better now." Jane leaned down and covered Maura's lips with her own; she was almost too weak to reciprocate the kiss.

"Frost…" Maura asked as Jane broke the kiss.

"Saved my life. We took out Ian, but…it was too…" Jane teared up as she spoke and muffled her impending sobs by again gathering Maura into a kiss. When she had composed herself she looked into Maura's half-closed eyes, "Haymitch?"

"They came…" Maura reached for Jane's face and held it tenderly in her hands. "Casey and Star. I heard fighting. Haymitch led them away. He never came back." Maura gazed out through the branches at the dimming sky, "I didn't hear a canon. You're hurt." She reached for the gash on Jane's arm.

"It's not that bad. Barely even hurts." The last part was a lie. It hurt like hell. Every wound hurt more the more the arena broke the body down. But, it wasn't as bad as it could have been and Jane knew that. She handed Maura one of the silk strips and had her bind the wound to stem the bleeding.

Night fell and Jane marveled how with each passing minute Maura seemed to improve. The heat dripped from her body in droplet after droplet of sweat. Jane forced her to replace it with the water from Frost's backpack. Her fever was breaking, little by little. In the last moments of light Jane could even see a living color return to her face. The dull pain of slow and impending death began to subside; it was replaced by sharper pains that reminded Maura of what it felt like to be alive and wish to remain so. Hunger.

"I know, me too," Jane whispered as she held Maura closely to her chest.

The herald of the evening death report resounded through the arena and they both looked towards the sky. Ian's face shone first followed by Frost's. Jane brought her fingertips to her lips and then gestured towards the image in the sky. And with that, the recap was complete and the images faded from the black leaving only the night sky dotted with stars.

"Haymitch is still alive," Maura noted.

"We'll find him tomorrow," Jane kept staring through the gap in the branches and cocked her head as her eye caught movement. She tensed, her hand slowly creeping to the dagger on her hip, but the movement soon came with a familiar sound and an identifying red beacon. The sponsor's pod floated through the break in the branches and hung on a twig just within reach.

Tears streaked Jane's face as she pulled out the contents…a slab of cornbread, enough for her and Maura, a gift from the people of District 11. "Thank you," she said aloud. "Thank you."


	19. A Flower for the Dead

**Author's note: **Just a quick note to thank you all for reading and your reviews! I am in the process of moving across country so the next update may be delayed. We'll see how the packing and shenanigans go, stick around though; we have a lot of story left!

**CH 19: A Flower for the Dead**

Charles Hoyt sat in the grand office of the Presidential mansion, with its lilac walls and dark wood accents and looked out the floor to ceiling windows behind his desk onto the garden outside. He pressed the fingertips of each hand together and stroked the bridge of his nose. The pruned plants around his office had withered and died, much like the bodies of the tributes in the arena. He knew some of those that visited his office must have found it strange to see the flowers allowed to rot. But, then, few had the same appreciation for flora in all its stages as he did. He flicked the dried blooms off as he stalked along the perimeter of the room. Crushing a desiccated lily in his hands he brought the powdered remains to his nose and inhaled.

"Mmm," he smiled, pursing his lips and blowing the dried particles from his palm. "Lilies are notorious for losing their fragrance. Did you know that, Gabriel?"

Gabriel Dean shifted uncomfortably in the doorway; he hadn't even announced his entrance, yet Hoyt still knew he was there. "The smell of plants matters little in my line of work."

"Ah, yes," Hoyt nodded, "Unless of course it factors into the Games."

"Of course," Dean agreed. Even then, the natural odor mattered very little. He had a cadre of scientists and plant biologists at his disposal; he could make a flower, a berry, even a blade of grass smell like whatever he wanted. He could sprout a poison fruit that teemed with the savory, mouth-watering aroma of a coveted district dish right in front of a starving tribute. The natural essence of lilies seemed like child's play.

"Do you know how I keep the fragrance for so long?" Hoyt turned and beckoned him closer. "It's different depending on the plant. Salt for roses, sprinkled around the beds. But, mostly it's about how you dry them. Lavender holds a beautiful scent when dried simply in a dark room. Some of them I preserve in olive oil. The oil takes on the essence of the flower. Depending on the flower you can either ingest the oil or burn it to release the fragrance."

"That's all very fascinating, sir," Dean clasped his hands behind his back and fidgeted nervously as Hoyt turned and deftly slid a few stalks of dried lavender into the breast pocket of his suit.

"Do you know what I love about lavender most of all?" Hoyt waved the Avox standing in the doorway into the room. The mute slave bore a tray laden with a decanter of caramel colored brandy and two snifters. "I love the smell of lavender oil on a body. I love when that body becomes aroused and the skin flushes as the temperature rises. The heat ignites the oil and the scent rolls off the skin in invisible plumes that reach for you and draw you closer. Yes…the smell of lavender and fear."

He watched Gabriel Dean's face for any reaction. But, his Head Gamemaker had long ago trained himself to be a vault for emotions. The Avox poured two snifters and was dismissed. Hoyt held the glass to his nose, swirling the liquid as the fruity vapors wafted upwards. "Life is such a sensual experience, wouldn't you agree, Gabriel?"

"Some might say death is as well," Dean countered. "Perhaps the one moment where we're truly aware of everything, open. Though I suppose that's hard for the living to say."

"Sight, touch, hearing, smell, taste," Hoyt let the liquid breach his lips and roll like a warm wave across his tongue and down his throat. "The burn. Pleasure."

"Pain," Dean added.

"Pain, yes," Hoyt smiled, his thin lips twisting his face and augmenting the aged wrinkles. "Pain is a beautiful thing. So much feeling." He handed Dean the second snifter. "Apricot brandy."

Dean sipped it slowly, his eyes continuing to follow Hoyt as he meandered about the room, "Somehow, sir, I don't think sharing a drink and waxing philosophic on pleasure and pain is why you called me in."

"No, it's not," Hoyt sat down in the leather high backed chair at his carved mahogany desk. His elbow rested on the arm, snifter still in hand, crossing one leg over the other as he regarded Dean with a look that both dripped of disappointment and was laced with threat. "Your feast didn't go as planned."

"It didn't go…as hoped…sir," Dean responded somewhat defiantly. He could not plan a death; he could only lay the groundwork. There was no way to wholly dictate the tributes' moves. Manipulation had to be sparse and understated less claims of overt favoritism and cheating be lodged. The Capitol's citizens wagered a fair amount of money on the Games after all.

"Yes, well…" the sly sneer had almost completely faded from the President's mouth. "Now, we have a problem. It seems our star-crossed lovers have garnered quite the following. We have the Capitol's own citizens begging for a rule change to allow them both to live, incidences of unrest and defiance against the Peacekeepers in Districts, 6, 8, 11, and 12. District 11 sponsored a gift for another District's tributes! The Games are supposed to be a reminder of their shackles, Gabriel! Not inspiration to test the strength of the chains!"

"With all due respect, sir," Dean drained the last of the brandy, "you had to have known reaping victors would bring with it a greater degree of uncertainty and tax our ability to manipulate the Games."

_He knows._ Hoyt studied his face. _He knows._ The Quarter Quell cards. The great Presidential secret. There were no pre-planned scenarios. There were only old, yellowed envelopes that held blank cards locked in a vault to be filled in by the President at the time of the Quell. Of course there were an unlimited number of scenarios, because there were no scenarios written down at all.

"May I be excused?" Dean set the snifter on the edge of the desk and waited for his dismissal.

Hoyt excused him with the flippant wave of his fingers, when Dean was almost to the door Hoyt called out to him, "Gabriel…tread lightly."

* * *

><p>For the first time in days Maura awoke before Jane. The deep stab wound in her side still ached but the sensation that she was boiling from the inside out had finally subsided. She had been so close to death, and in a way she had almost come to terms with it. Now, as she stared at Jane, still sleeping, she realized they were once again in the same predicament as when they had started. Only one could live. She ran her hand down Jane's sunlit face and leaned in to kiss her slightly parted lips. Jane stirred under her touch and reciprocated. If not dying had given her anything, it was this: one more day with the woman she loved, one more day of gentle touches and hopeful kisses. Maura deepened the kiss, her tongue sliding into Jane's mouth and claiming it. Slowly she eased back until their lips separated with a soft pop and they were looking at each other, thankful smiles playing across both of their faces.<p>

"You must be feeling better," Jane observed, a small giggle escaping as she reached up to cup Maura's face.

Maura nodded. "I…I just wish I could have known Barry better. I think he would have been a dear friend."

"He was our friend," Jane countered, "And a good person. Selfless. If only there were more like him in Panem."

Out of the tree and with their supplies packed Jane stood and stared ahead. _Haymitch, where would you have gone?_ He had protected Maura when he could have run and saved himself. She owed it to him to find him.

"If only I could have been more coherent, I could have seen which way he went," Maura followed Jane's gaze and shared in the dilemma. _Which way?_

"If I were Haymitch," Jane began to think out loud, "I would assume that Frost and I were successful at the Cornucopia…that our next move would be to move against the Careers…and thus that our best chance of finding him is if he headed in the direction Frost and I went or in the direction of their camp. Since I didn't run into him on my way back…"

Maura pulled the hand drawn map that Giovanni had given her from her backpack. One side noted the minefield around the supplies, the other a rough sketch of the Careers' camp in relation to the Cornucopia. "That way then," Maura indicated the direction that would lead them on an eventual rendezvous trajectory with Casey and Star.

* * *

><p>"You want to tell me how a man nearly twice your age got in this many cuts and you still didn't even kill him!" Casey's voice ratcheted up in volume, anger teeming behind his eyes, jaw tight as he clenched his teeth.<p>

Star groaned, her body trembling from the pain and bloodletting of the lacerations. She had only just stumbled back to their camp in the pre-dawn hours, dehydrated and stained red, tatters of clothing hanging in strips where Haymitch had carved her up with one of Jane's daggers. "I got him as good as he got me."

"Well, you didn't get him dead." Casey smeared the salve a sponsor had sent over the cuts on her hands and face. It wasn't enough to take care of all of her injuries but it would get her back in shape enough to be of some use to him. "At least Ian managed to take out 11. I should have known if I wanted the rest done right to go myself."

"Well, why didn't you!?" Star snapped back, wincing and gasping as Casey landed a flat-handed slap fully across her face.

"Because Giovanni didn't have that map on him when Ian killed him, which means this location is vulnerable. He betrayed us to get that map to someone. And I'm betting I know who it was." Casey finished tending her wounds and tossed a canteen of water into her lap. "You've already underestimated one victor, and look where it got you. Underestimate Jane Rizzoli and she'll have a dagger in your chest and your guts on the ground before you can call my name for help."

* * *

><p>At first, he had thought it an illusion. A mirage. Something his weary brain, burning skin, and exhausted legs were teasing him with just to get him to stop. Haymitch wasn't even sure how he'd managed to lead her off. They had grappled at the base of Maura's tree, trading blows and cuts. The tribute from District 1 was younger and stronger yet somehow his dagger connected with her flesh over and over. She'd gotten in just as many cuts on him though with the spare dagger on her hip.<p>

The attack had started with an arrow right to the side of his shoulder blade; he'd never even seen her. However, the stupidity and cockiness of youth played to his favor. He acted like the arrow had felled him and played dead. She walked up with all the bravado of a conquering hero only to catch his dagger through her calf. Haymitch snapped the string of her bow and they fought. But, every second he stayed near Maura made her discovery more likely, so he'd managed a brutal swipe across her brow and then he ran.

Slowly, as the distance had passed under his feat her wheezing grunts had faded behind him, yet still he ran. The murky mud hole appeared in front of him, the only thing that could pass for cover in this part of the arena, but he couldn't believe it. He was sure as he ran across it would turn out to be dirt and grass just like everything else. His foot connected with the edge of the mirage and to his surprise sank, stuck, and slammed him face first into thick, hot mud. He pulled a hollow reed from the muddy bank, held it between his lips and submerged himself in viscous darkness.

The night had been sleepless. The fear of dozing off and sucking in a lung full of mud kept him energized enough to fight his body's cries to give in. Haymitch checked every so often, poking his head up out of the mud to look around. Nothing. And back under he went.

* * *

><p>Progress was faster now that Maura could walk on her own, however the pain from her wound still necessitated breaks. Jane stood on the bank of the sizable mud hole and scanned the arena. They both felt confident in their initial direction, having found traces of blood at various points along the way. But now, they had been trudging for at least a mile or more with no other physical signs that Haymitch might have passed this way.<p>

"What I wouldn't give for that to be a lake," Maura muttered as she looked at the dense mud, a thin layer of crust forming along the top in the afternoon sun.

Jane chuckled and sat down next to her, pulling Maura into her arms as they shared a canteen and the last of the cornbread that District 11 had sent them the previous night. "I'd rather it was a shower," she lamented.

Maura chuckled, letting her head loll back against Jane's shoulder, "I doubt we're likely to find one of those out here."

Jane eased Maura down with her and they stretched out along the hard earth of the bank. "I hated bathing when I was a kid," she laughed as she thought about it. "I'd go help Pop on some of his jobs and then I'd play with Frankie and Tommy and I'd come home covered in dirt and machine grease. Janie! My mother would exclaim," she did the best imitation of her mother she could muster. "In the bath, right now!"

"Why didn't you want to be clean?" Maura smiled, tilting her head so she could look up at Jane.

"Because…when I was covered with those black grease streaks…I felt like I looked like Pop. That I'd done something, no matter how small…fishing a torn piece of material out of a gear, whatever. He always smiled at me when I looked like that. He always took his thumb and put a splotch of grease right on the tip of my nose. One day he drew on grease whiskers with his finger. Ma really had a fit." Jane closed her eyes and felt the heat invading her body. "He left after Frankie died. And I barely saw him for years. Not long ago I heard he got a worker transfer to District 9. They needed more plumbers for new irrigation systems or something…He never even said goodbye."

"Sweetheart…if you're done with the lamentations from your childhood, a little help maybe?"

Jane and Maura shot up to see Haymitch emerging from the mud. He spat out the hollow reed he'd used as a snorkel and swept the mud from his eyes.

Slogging through the mud, Jane reached Haymitch and helped him to his feet and then slowly to the bank. He wiped as much of the sticky camouflage from his face and clothes as possible but in the end he was still brown from head to toe. Gratefully he accepted the canteen of water Maura held out and sucked it dry. "You're looking better."

"Much," Maura replied. "Thank you…for helping protect me."

"What are allies for?" He joked.

"Don't know," Jane smiled, "Never had them before."

"You dealt that poor man fits in the 58th," Haymitch gladly accepted the additional water he was offered and used it sparingly to rinse his face.

"Korsak?" Jane asked, her eyes softening as she thought about her mentor and friend.

"Hell yes," Haymitch laughed. "I've never seen him drink as much as that year. There you are, pissed off, mad at everybody, willful, defiant…a flat out mess of a tribute to get sponsors for. Still, he tried. Every damn day. Because he knew…he knew you could win that year. Just like this year. At least you wizened up this time around."

Jane smiled and nodded. "Why are you helping us?"

Now Haymitch smiled as he held his hands up and looked towards the sky, "To atone for my sins."

"No, really, why?" Jane asked again.

His face fell solemn, "Because I loved someone once. And because there's nothing ever going to be waiting for me back home but more kids to tote off to their death and a bottle of Ripper's white liquor. Speaking of which…you didn't happen to snag my bag at the feast, did you?"

Jane arched an eyebrow and fished the bag from her backpack and handed it to him, "We didn't open it…"

"Ah," Haymitch sighed as he pulled the flask from its cloth case.

"That's what you needed desperately?" Maura blurted out as Haymitch took a swig from the flask.

"A man on death row can have but few simple pleasures," Haymitch jested with the cock of his head as he downed another mouthful.

"Well, you're not dead yet," Jane snatched the flask from him, sealed it and dropped it in her backpack. "And the thanks I owe you for your help so far doesn't extend to dragging your drunk ass through the arena."

Haymitch laughed as they all stood to continue on their way, "You know what sweetheart? I think you're starting to like me."

* * *

><p>Jane returned just before evening from her reconnaissance of the Careers' camp. With the help of Giovanni's map she'd managed to circle and view it from a well-hidden spot on the opposite side of the small lake. A mass of supplies was stacked at one end, for the most part looking untouched. She reckoned that meant with the loss of their map the remaining alliance members had not known how to navigate their own booby trap. Several tents were set up well away from the explosion zone. Even if they were cut off from the bulk of their supplies, the lake in and of itself was invaluable.<p>

"I didn't see any movement," Jane relayed to Haymitch and Maura.

"Do you think they're out looking for us?" Maura asked. She glanced around nervously. They were close to the Careers' camp, very close. The proximity made her exceedingly jittery.

"Wouldn't make sense," Haymitch jumped in. "They would have to assume that we've teamed up. And even though they know I'm hurt, they don't know what kind of condition either of you are in. With the girl from 1 hurting as bad as I am…well, forgive the figure of speech, the odds wouldn't be in their favor."

"We need to separate them," Jane mused. "Casey Jones is dangerous enough on his own. I can't take him down if he's got a partner."

Maura thought for a second, her brow furrowing as she contemplated, "We need to draw her off somehow. Preoccupy her while you make a move on Casey."

Jane clucked her tongue; in theory, it was a good idea…putting it into practice was another matter entirely. "And how do you propose we draw her off? Neither of you are in much shape to outrun her for long."

"We don't need to outrun her." Maura looked up and pointed to a Tracker Jacker nest on a low branch over their heads. "We need to ambush her."

Haymitch chuckled, "Well, well…"

Reaching into her backpack Maura produced a handful of the hollow reeds that Haymitch had used to breathe through in the mud. "I took these. With the thorns off of these acacia bushes I can make a poison dart and blowgun. I'll need one Tracker Jacker to extract venom from to tip the darts. If I can create a distraction, draw Star away from the camp and lead her to Haymitch, he can hit her with the darts. The venom will cause severe disorientation; she'll be much easier to overpower once she's drugged. Jane, you can use another set of reeds to swim unseen across the lake. With Star gone, that will leave only Casey…"

Jane's eyes widened as she considered the proposal, "This could work."

"Hell, sweetheart, seems to me it's all we've got!" Haymitch looked up at the Tracker Jackers and shuddered. He pointed at Maura, "You get Star to me and I'll take care of her. Once I've darted her you get back to the lake as fast as you can in case Jane needs help with Casey and I'll be along as soon as possible."

Jane rubbed her face with her hands. It was a risky plan, but Haymitch was right, it was all they had. At first light they would make their move. One way or another she knew that tomorrow would bring the 75th Hunger Games to its conclusion. She looked up at the nest of lethal, Capitol-engineered hornets. "So, how do we get one of them without getting stung?"

Maura struck a match and set some dried grass and kindling to smolder, "We smoke them out."


	20. Sacrifice

**CH 20: Sacrifice**

The daylight was waning at what seemed like breakneck speed. On the verge of exhaustion and weakened from his injuries, Haymitch could only sit around and watch as Jane and Maura finished the preparations for the early morning assault. He had requested Jane to rig the rope to the Tracker Jacker nest in the event that his aim with Maura's crude blowgun was less than stellar.

Jane took a knee next to him on the ground under the nest and handed him the flask. The fire had pacified the genetically engineered hornets long enough for Jane to cut one down with her dagger as it buzzed lazily through the smoke screen. Eventually the smoke dissipated and the hornets recovered and piled back into their nest none the wiser. "If you use this…" she began, running her hand along the rope, "…they'll sting you too."

Haymitch smiled and took a long slug off the flask and then tucked it down his shirt. "Now, sweetheart, we both know I'm not coming out of this alive."

It dawned on Jane then. The rope around the nest wasn't an alternative way to deal with Star; it was how Haymitch planned to deal with himself.

"It…will be excruciating," Jane tried to control the tears welling up behind her eyes.

"Would you rather come back and slit my throat yourself?" Haymitch asked, studying her face and the look of horror that twisted her muscles as he said it. "I didn't think so. Besides, I'd hate to cheat our fair viewers out of yet another cheap thrill."

Haymitch paused and grabbed Jane's arm before she stood to leave. "We have a sign of respect in my district," he pressed three fingers to his lips and held them up in front of her. "It was my pleasure, sweetheart. You do what you came here to do."

Far enough away to be out of earshot of their hushed conversation, Maura proceeded to tip the acacia thorn darts she had made and tested with the Tracker Jacker venom, setting the venom on the crude darts by drying them in the smoldering smoke from the fire.

Jane sat next to her and nuzzled into Maura's neck, kissing her softly as she wrapped her up in her arms. "I need to head back to the lake soon, so I can get an early start."

"It should be shallow enough so that you can skirt the perimeter and keep in contact with the bottom. When you get to the lake grasses on the other side you'll have to submerge so that you won't be seen. But you'll have the reeds to breathe through and the water won't be deep. You'll hear the echo of the explosions underwater when I set them off." Maura was trying to take comfort by reciting the plan. Anything to avoid thinking about the fact that in a few minutes she would have to say goodbye to Jane, in what could be their last moment together.

"Look at me," Jane whispered, her breath quick as it streaked across Maura's cheek.

Maura turned to face her and closed her eyes, but that did little to stem the flow of tears pouring down her face. The gentle touch of Jane's lips to her skin, kissing the tears away, only served to make Maura cry more.

"Look at me," Jane pleaded again, her hands caressing down both of Maura's cheeks. "Open your eyes."

Begrudgingly, Maura did. "I'm so mad at you right now…for being here," she whispered, the words barely able to be expelled through the choking lump that had filled her throat.

Jane laughed and pulled Maura forcefully into a searing kiss. By the time her assault on Maura's lips and tongue were done, tears had rendered her own face soaking wet. They both sniffled, foreheads resting against the other. "I love you. I've always loved you. And when you're back home, safe in District 8 and you close your eyes and feel that quick flutter in your chest…that's me, still loving you."

Maura threw her arms around Jane, nails digging into her back and head as she held her with fearful desperation. "I love you too. I always have and I always will." She slid the ring off her finger and onto Jane's, "For luck."

* * *

><p>There was no need to worry about missing the break of dawn because Jane didn't bother to sleep at all. The light broke soft and slowly, creeping towards her across the lake accompanied by a cool foggy mist. For the first time since the torrential downpour there was no heat. Even Gabriel Dean and the Gamemakers knew that it was all ending in a few hours, why bother with the energy-draining and insufferable burn? Somewhere, over her head, a bird sang, its short tune echoed by another bird in another tree and then another. <em>Mockingjays<em>. She looked up and stared into the shadows of the branches and smiled. _Is that you Frost?_

Jane walked with trepidation towards the lake. She closed her eyes and thought about that night in the elephant grass flood plain with the waters rising in the darkness and the feeling of absolute terror. Waiting to drown was horrific, the water lapping at her chin as she struggled to keep Maura well above it. A few more minutes, that's all it would have taken without the life vest. The water would have overtaken her, filled her lungs, and suffocated her and she would have been conscious for several excruciating minutes of it. And now, she was about to wade back into the abyss voluntarily.

With a deep breath to try and gain control over her fear Jane stepped into the water and felt the tepid liquid fill her boots and seep into her clothes. Little by little she walked out into the pool of dark blue, shuffling her feet along the bottom as the bank gradually fell away under her feet. When the water was around her ribs she sank to her knees, turned and began to crawl around the perimeter with only her head exposed. The lake wasn't huge, but she was going the long way around. She estimated it would take her an hour to get to the other side.

* * *

><p>"Breakfast?" The corner of Haymitch's lips turned up in the sarcastic half-smile Maura had grown accustomed to. He extended the flask towards her. She paused, considering for a moment whether she should or not and then took the flask and downed a hearty gulp. "Good girl."<p>

"Are you all set then?" Maura asked as she triple checked the blowgun and darts she had laid at Haymitch's side.

"As ready as I'm gonna be!" Their eyes caught and he was surprised that it wasn't abject fear he saw looking back at him, but the most profound sadness he had ever seen. "Have you thought about what you're going to do if this crazy plan of yours works?"

Maura shook her head.

"When it's just the two of you left, if she can do it herself, listen to me," Haymitch reached for Maura's shoulder and squeezed. "Don't watch. You don't want that to be your last memory. But, you need to prepare yourself, in case she can't…"

Maura slapped his hand away, "I can't…I won't."

He sat forward and grabbed her by the jacket, yanking her closer until their lips were almost touching, "You listen here. What the Gamemakers will unleash on the both of you if you refuse will be far more cruel than putting a dagger in her heart. You hear me? Some kind of muttation demon that she'll throw herself in front of to protect you and you'll never wipe that carnage from your memory. This is the shithole hand we've been dealt, like it or not. If it comes down to that, she deserves a gentle death at your hand. Don't you dare give those bastards in the Capitol the satisfaction of seeing her torn apart."

Pulling out of his grasp, Maura ran.

* * *

><p>Korsak, Effie, Cinna, and Portia huddled around the television in the District 8 suite. An Avox offered them assorted breakfast delicacies and juice infused with spirits, but none of them partook, not even Effie. In fact, the Capitol escort sat, in the plainest ensemble Korsak had ever seen her don and makeup that bordered on neutral as she stared blankly at the broadcast, occasionally bringing a handkerchief to the corner of her eye to dab at an errant tear.<p>

Cinna hadn't shaved; maybe for days Korsak noted, his carefully maintained five o'clock shadow having grown coarse and ragged on his face. Deep circles were dark and heavy under his eyes. He hadn't slept. None of them had.

Portia had taken the time to fix her hair and apply her copious paste of cosmetics. But, it was already as good as ruined from the tears she let streak unceremoniously down her face in running spirals of purple and blue. She let out a loud choke as Maura ran away from Haymitch and towards the Careers' Camp.

Korsak, however, looked the worst of all. He wore the same suit he'd worn for the past two days; it was a mass of wrinkles and starting to smell from the sweat. His tie hung undone around his neck, hair disheveled and sticking up in all directions, and his eyes were more red than white. There was no good outcome for him in this. He would lose at least two, if not three of his dearest friends. And the one that he brought home, if he was lucky enough to bring her home, would probably be broken and but a shell of the woman that had gone into the arena to begin with.

* * *

><p>Her heart pounded harder in her chest the closer she got to the camp. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she almost worried that Casey and Star would hear the excited thumping and cut her down before the plan even got well on its way. Jane had to slow her progress even further to avoid any loud ripples that might indicate her position. Finally, she reached the patch of lake grass that sat halfway between the explosives-surrounded supplies and the camp tents. She put one of the reeds in her mouth and clamped her lips tightly around it as she closed her eyes and slid under the water.<p>

The first breath was terrifying, that niggling fear in the back of her mind that the reed wouldn't work and instead of sucking in a lungful of air she'd inhale a gulp of water. She reminded herself of the image of Haymitch emerging out of that pit of dense mud and took a breath. Air.

* * *

><p>Maura crouched behind some bushes on the outskirts of the camp. She looked towards the lake but saw no sign of Jane anywhere. It could only mean she had already reached the waiting spot and gone under.<p>

Checking Giovanni's map one more time, Maura plotted which points to aim for. She shrugged out of the backpack and pulled the stones from the bag. They weren't huge, but they should be big enough to trip the mines she had concluded. Her arm brushed the dagger on her belt that Jane had forced her to take. Unsheathing it, she stared at the blade as her hand began to tremble. "Please don't come to this," she murmured, sliding the blade back into its keep as she stood and began to creep towards her target.

She moved slowly, straining to listen for any sound that indicated Casey and Star might be about. Finally, she made it to a patch of scrub bushes near the stack of supplies. Looking down the campsite she could see small tendrils of smoke swirling up from a fire and the faintest odor of some kind of roasting meat. They were up.

Maura stood and chucked three of the stones in rapid succession, falling to her knees and plugging her ears as the blasts rocked the ground beneath her and sent a gush of hot, displaced air out in every direction. When she pulled her fingers from her ears she could hear shouting and jumped to her feet as Casey and Star began to race towards her.

For a mere second that felt like an eternity she was completely paralyzed with fear as the two tributes raced down their camp, swinging wide to avoid the explosives zone. _RUN!_ Maura screamed to herself. And she did, ignoring the tearing pain from the old wound in her side as she streaked back to Haymitch's trap.

* * *

><p><em>Boom. Boom. Boom<em>. Three explosions set the lake to rippling. Jane could feel the tremors, even under water and hear the muted thunder enter her ears and tremble in her chest. She waited for a few minutes before slowly easing upward to breach the surface.

Crawling on her hands and knees she reached the bank, looking around, listening, but there was nothing. Her heart accelerated so quickly she feared she might pass out as the worse case scenario overtook her thoughts: what if both Casey and Star had run off after Maura. But then she heard his voice.

"JANE!" Casey bellowed. "I know you're out there!"

She continued to crawl until she could see him, standing near where the mines had gone off, turning round and round, ax in his hand as he looked for her.

Jane pulled the dagger from her belt, leapt to her feet and charged, flinging the blade and burying it in his back between his shoulder blades. He turned to face her right before she made contact and she barreled into him. The impact of their chests slamming together knocked all the breath from her lungs. She ignored it and ripped the dagger from his back to try and inflict a mortal wound. They were locked in a twisted knot of limbs as they both fell to the ground.

* * *

><p>"I'm going to tear your throat out with my bare hands!" Star screeched as she gave pursuit.<p>

Maura wasn't entirely sure how she was keeping ahead of her. Pure adrenaline. Somehow her legs pumped faster and faster as she made her way back to Haymitch. She was almost there. No sound breached her senses save for the ragged huffing of her own breath and that of the woman close on her heels. Suddenly, she heard a strangled scream and the second set of footsteps ceased and became a dull thud on the ground.

Maura tried to stop too quickly and lost her footing as she slid to the ground, when she looked up she could see Star ripping one of the darts from her neck. The blond woman snarled and turned her attentions to Haymitch but a second dart caught her in the throat before she even took a step.

Panting, Maura watched. She'd told Haymitch the darts needed to hit in an area rife with blood vessels to speed the poison's effect. He'd caught her two times in the throat now. She staggered towards him and he landed another dart in her chest near her heart.

Star fell to her knees, arms swinging wildly, a garble of nonsensical words spraying out of her mouth with rabid saliva. Maura had seen tributes stung by Tracker Jackers in the Games before. The tipped darts were without a doubt doing their job.

"Go!" Haymitch yelled. "I've got her! Get back to Jane."

Maura hoisted herself to her feet and could see Haymitch on his feet, dagger in his hand as he stood just out of reach of Star's frantic clawing, though her shrill shrieks of pain cut just as deep.

"Go." Haymitch said again. Maura nodded and again ran.

Haymitch waited until the brunt of Star's thrashing subsided. Collapsing in a heap on the ground she began to convulse, the impact points where the darts had connected had bubbled up into huge boils and were bursting as they oozed green puss. Her veins turned bright blue and bulged to the skin's surface as the toxin traveled through her blood. Breathing became strangled as anaphylaxis set in.

With a tortured sigh, Haymitch extricated the flask from his shirt, drained it and then pulled Star to her feet and held her tightly. Her eyes bulged and hot tears streaked her face as a froth of saliva leaked from her mouth. "I don't suppose you have enough strength to slit my throat do you?"

She blinked once, but her entire body was limp in his arms. Haymitch let his gaze fall on the direction Maura had set off in; he brought three fingers to his lips again and held them up. One last time he looked up at the Tracker Jacker nest above their heads and pulled the rope.

* * *

><p><em>BOOM…..BOOM.<em>

The double canon fire stopped Maura dead in her tracks. She turned, tears in her eyes and stared back in the direction that she had left Haymitch. But, there was little time for mourning. Her thoughts were only of getting back to Jane.

When she reached the camp Jane and Casey were still grappling on the ground. Casey's ax had been knocked free and was about ten feet out of his reach. He punched Jane mercilessly across the face but her legs were locked around his waist and one hand was digging so tightly into his neck that Maura could see the tributaries of blood her nails were freeing to flow. Jane's dagger lay bloody inside the explosives zone, the other gone as well or unreachable.

"Jane!" Maura called out, inching closer, her hands were shaking almost uncontrollably as she looked around for something she could use to knock Casey out with.

"Maura!" Jane answered. The realization that her love was alive wrenched a primal scream from Jane's chest as she surged forward, head-butting Casey and flipping him onto his back. But the power position didn't last long as he wrapped his hands around her throat and again rolled on top of her.

He leaned down as his grip tightened. "You want her to survive…" he growled, droplets of spittle dampening her already blood-soaked face.

Jane gritted her teeth and continued to fight, she glanced to her right and realized he was slowly maneuvering them closer and closer to the mines.

Lifting her head with his hands around her neck he slammed Jane back to the ground. "I want her to watch you die."

"Fine…" Jane wheezed, using every last ounce of strength to keep him from pushing her closer to the minefield. "As long as you die too…"

"Or," he smiled, his thumbs pressing harder into her throat, "You die and then I slit her pretty little…"

The tip of a dagger peeked through the skin of his neck and then disappeared. Jane gasped as a spray of blood from Casey's throat coated her face. His hands went limp around her and with little effort she pushed him aside. Sputtering, she expelled as much of his blood from her mouth as possible and wiped her eyes. When she looked up Maura was standing over Casey's body, one hand clasped over her mouth as she cried, the other clutching the bloody dagger.

_BOOM._

Jane stumbled to her feet, lightheaded, she lilted for a moment until she caught her bearings. She struggled towards Maura who pulled her hand from her face and stared at the bright red liquid that covered her. Maura collapsed into Jane's arms. "Shhh," Jane cooed. "Shhh." Lifting her with a newfound burst of strength, Jane carried Maura to the lake while the hovercraft appeared to remove Casey's body.

She carried Maura into the water and sat her down as she furiously washed away the blood from Maura's quivering hands and face where she had touched herself. When at least the visible traces of death were gone she enveloped Maura in an embrace and held her while she sobbed.

* * *

><p>Korsak didn't even remember standing up but he was on his feet. His entire body felt numb as he paced in short steps in front of the television. "Oh God, he mumbled. "Oh God." <em>One of them is going to have to kill the other.<em>

The rest watched in horrified silence as Jane rocked Maura in the serene water of the lake, bringing handful after handful of liquid to her crying lover's neck and face in a vain attempt to soothe her.

A growing din breached the silence of the suite. Cinna stood and walked to the window, his eyes wide with shock. "Vince, you have to see this."

Korsak stepped up next to him and looked out the window. Every person in the Capitol had wandered out of home and business and brought the streets to a stand still. Their cries grew louder, a cacophony of tangled voices.

"They're saying something," Cinna observed, opening the door to the balcony.

What sounded like generic revelry through the thick walls and heavy glass of the suite floated in unencumbered with the balcony doors open. Korsak, Cinna, Portia, and Effie stepped out onto the terrace.

"Let them live! Let them live! Let them live!" The chorus grew louder and louder. The only words audible in the whole of the Capitol: Let them live.

* * *

><p>It took several minutes but Maura finally calmed enough to look into Jane's eyes. "He was going to throw you on the mines," she muttered, cupping Jane's face in her hands.<p>

"I know," Jane nodded. "But I was going to try my best to take him with me."

Maura shook her head at the thought. "I wanted to kiss you one more time." She pulled Jane forward and pressed their lips together, but broke the kiss to bury her face in Jane's neck, guilt and soul-crushing sadness consuming her.

"Come on," Jane stood and pulled Maura to her feet. They walked back up the bank, Casey was gone but the red remnants of Jane's struggle with him were still smeared all over the ground. She picked the dagger up and wiped his blood off on her pants. Reaching for Maura's hand she pulled her in flush against her body and starting at her forehead kissed every inch of her face until she claimed her lips with a passionate fury.

"Take this back," Jane said, pulling off the ring and sliding it back onto Maura's finger.

They stood wrapped in each other for several minutes, hands roaming through hair and over blood and sweat stained skin. Jane slid her hand under Maura's shirt and ran her fingers over the scars on her back one last time.

"Please…don't ask me to do this…" Maura protested as Jane forced the dagger into her resistant hand.

"I can't live without you Maura." Jane reiterated. She pulled Maura's hand up and positioned the point of the dagger over her heart. "All I want is for you to go home."

Maura's hand shook. She tore her eyes away from the blade and looked at Jane. "What makes you think I can live without you? I can't go home, Jane. I can't go home, because you're my home."

Jane's lip trembled and she gasped for a breath as she looked up at the crystal blue sky. She felt the tip of the dagger fall away as Maura released it and dropped it to the ground. "We came here together…"

Maura nodded as Jane bent down to pick up the dagger and pulled the second dagger she'd been unable to reach in her duel with Casey from the back of her belt. Maura took one of the blades as Jane held the other. "You won't go without me…and I won't go without you."

Guiding Maura to the ground, Jane pushed her to lie down. She straddled her and held her blade to Maura's heart as she positioned the dagger in Maura's hand against her own chest. Jane leaned forward until she could feel the steel tip pressing as far into her skin as possible without yet puncturing it. "I love you. Forever," she whispered into one last kiss.

"Forever," Maura whispered back.

"On the count of three, as hard as you can, ok?" Jane asked as Maura nodded. "One….two…thr…"


	21. Catching Fire

**CH 21: Catching Fire**

Gabriel Dean stood and paced agitatedly around the main control room. Over the course of the Games the number of monitors required to broadcast the different areas of the arena had slowly blackened as tributes died and the coverage area shrank. Now, there was only the main screen operating as all cameras focused only on two.

He ran a hand through his stringy and oily hair and pondered the last words he and President Hoyt had exchanged, right after Jane and Maura had reunited with Haymitch. Rumblings of discontent had been simmering throughout the Capitol and no doubt the districts as well. Hoyt had his Jabberjays nested throughout Panem: citizens that looked like regular Capitol folk, Peacekeepers and administrators out in the districts. Their reports had grown alarming. The bulls had been lanced and barbed but instead of crying for the kill, murmurs of mercy had been building.

_Everyone likes an underdog_, Dean offered.

Hoyt's face hadn't budged from its frozen look of vile disdain. _I don't. Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective; a lot of hope is dangerous. A spark is fine, as long as it's contained._

_So…_

_So, contain it!_ Hoyt snarled.

He had not contained it. He had given them an underdog story fit to immortalize in song and story. The spark had grown, taken to the arena like a half-starved ember bathed with fuel and oxygen. It was a conflagration now.

Dean watched as Maura plunged the dagger into Casey's neck and pulled it free. Watched as she held the red-coated steel blade in her hands and unknowingly spread her first kill's blood across her face. He brought his hand to his mouth and shook his head as Jane carried her to the lake, washed her clean and held her as she cried.

"Sir," one of his assistants looked at him with terrified confusion plastered across his face. "You have to see this."

One by one the blank monitors were switched on. The assistant's hands flashed across his controls and each screen tapped into a camera around the Capitol. Dean watched as the broadcasts displayed the same phenomenon. If it weren't for the different buildings and varied landmarks one could think it was the same picture over and over on the dozen or so monitors. But, it wasn't. On each screen there was only a massive throng of humanity: the Capitol's citizens having spilled into the streets. His eyes flashed to the main monitor and listened as Jane and Maura each took a dagger in their hand and settled to the ground.

With the flip of a switch the assistant activated the sound from the cameras. The chants drowned out the almost hushed whispers of the last two tributes on the main feed. _Let them live! Let them live! Let them live!_

One of the cameras zoomed in on the District 8 balcony and Dean watched as Korsak, Cinna, Portia, and Effie came into focus. Korsak brought three fingers to his lips and then held them out above the crowd that had gathered and was looking up at him.

Dean's eyes widened as the giant screen in the City Center broadcast the image to the entire capitol. Slowly, across every screen in his control room the Capitol's citizens brought three fingers to their lips and held them up in reply.

"My God," Dean muttered, "We'll make them martyrs."

* * *

><p>Korsak stood on the balcony and watched the ocean of bodies swell beneath him. They rolled and undulated as their numbers grew. The colors of their vibrant Capitol attire mixed and swirled as they packed closer together. He was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that they weren't just congregating in the streets, his face was being televised on the gargantuan screen in the City Center and they were all looking at him. On smaller screens around the circle the scene from the arena continued to play out.<p>

"They wouldn't…" Cinna whispered as Jane lowered Maura to the ground.

Korsak pursed his lips as tears began to stain his face and drip to his shirt until it looked as if rain had fallen on his breast. "They would."

He brought three fingers to his lips and raised his hand over the crowd. Cinna followed suit, and after him Portia and Effie as well. The din of the crowd quieted until an eerie hush fell across the city. One by one at first and then in massive waves, the citizens brought their fingers to their lips and mimicked the sign of respect that Haymitch had introduced them to in the arena. Not a single hand lowered as their eyes all turned to the arena broadcast, the stark silence filled by Jane's strangled count: "One…two…thr…"

* * *

><p>The two women had long since grown weary of crying. The time had come and gone when tears just seemed futile. Sobbing had been followed by anger and then more tears and then anger again and now only a deep and empty sadness. They took comfort in each other's arms, holding one another, limbs tangled and cheeks pressed closely together as they watched.<p>

Constance Isles wrapped her hand in the tail end of Angela's hair and closed her eyes as Jane and Maura each took a dagger in their hand. "Maura…" she whispered, "Darling…I love you."

Angela's hand fell from where it had been desperately clutching Constance's shoulder; she took the woman's hand in a vice-like grip and watched as her daughter centered the dagger in her lover's hand over her heart. Her face stilled and hatred filled her eyes as she watched, "He's taken everything from me."

Maura's father sat with his back to the television. He played through his mind every skinned knee he'd rinsed, every cut he'd bandaged, and every pinched finger he'd kissed when Maura was a child. He wouldn't see her bleed this way. They couldn't make him watch.

Patrick Doyle settled a hand on his shoulder and gave a light squeeze. Everyone knew now, that he was Maura's birth father. Angela Rizzoli, the Isles', as the Games had played on they had welcomed him. He suffered, just as they did. Even the citizens of District 8, that had before always passed him in silent trepidation gave him sympathetic looks and nods on the street. Anonymous women left food on his doorstep. As Jane began to count, his fingers tightened until they balled into fists, "Hoyt," he growled between gritted teeth, "I'll make him pay for this."

"One…two…thr…" Angela and Constance both gasped.

* * *

><p>Across Panem the districts came to a halt. No sound emerged from the mines in District 12, no coal smoke puffed out from the mouth of the tunnels. Soot covered men and gaunt women and children stood bleary eyed in their town square and watched the screen the Peacekeepers had erected for the Reaping and left standing for the Games.<p>

Mayor Undersee, the loss of his own daughter, Madge, earlier in the Games still fresh and raw in his chest threaded through the crowd to the front and watched as Haymitch pulled the rope and loosed the Tracker Jackers on himself. Haymitch had never been particularly loved in the district; he was almost a recluse and definitely a drunk. But, he was one of them; he was their victor. Mayor Undersee often wondered what kind of man Haymitch would have matured into if he had not been reaped, won, and lost everyone he had ever loved because of it. As he watched Haymitch's act of selflessness, he thought he saw a glimpse of who that man might have been.

He brought three fingers to his lips and held them aloft as the men and women behind him offered the same final goodbye.

Hundreds of miles away the fields of District 11 were vacant. Late fall crops were unharvested, plows, sickles, and scythes unattended in winter fields that waited to be planted.

Barry Frost's cousin, Rue, wove lithely through the congregated people. She whistled her signature tune and the bodies in front of her parted as she made her way to the stage in front of their Justice Building. She climbed aloft and looked out at her brethren. Over her shoulder she glanced up at the screen as the tributes from District 8 kissed one last time and refused to part. Rue kissed her fingers and held them out; as the gesture was mimicked she began to sing, "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see…"

Throughout the districts, unplanned and uncoordinated the same scene unfolded. In District 3, the people emerged from the electronics factories and held three fingers to the sky, in District 5 the same, in District 6 mechanical operations ceased as the citizens remembered the part Giovanni had played. Districts 7, 9 and 10 were eerily similar, no sounds of felled timber reverberated through 7, the granaries of 9 were abandoned, and in 10 unfed cattle lowed at their troughs.

President Hoyt stood in front of a wall of screens in his own private monitoring room. He clutched a fistful of dried lavender in his hand until powdery specks of purple crumbled through the cracks of his fingers. He had demanded his Head Gamemaker contain the spark. Instead, the dull ember of day one had raged into a sweeping holocaust. Row after row of bodies with three fingers raised towards crystal blue skies, in the Capitol, in the Districts…those fingers were flames. Panem was burning before his eyes.

* * *

><p>Guiding Maura to the ground, Jane pushed her to lie down. The ground was hard and uncomfortable, but worst of all, the scent of blood and death hung low and tortured her senses. Maura took a deep breath through her mouth to avoid the smell only to have an acrid taste roll across her tongue. Jane straddled her and Maura's eyes fluttered as the tip of Jane's blade easily pricked through her threadbare clothing to the skin beneath. Maura let her hand with the dagger she tremblingly clutched be maneuvered over Jane's heart.<p>

Her resolve began to wane; she felt her grip on the dagger's handle loosen, but Jane leaned forward, the pressure of her chest against the steel tip forcing Maura to steady herself. "I love you. Forever," Jane whispered, her lips closing over Maura's one last time.

The kiss was a comfort Maura didn't know possible given the circumstances. It gave her back her resolve. She knew she couldn't open her eyes the next day and the next and the next for however many years she would live knowing that she wouldn't be waking up next to Jane, that her lips would never feel that warmth or taste that subtle sweetness again.

"Forever," Maura whispered back, her fingers closing even tighter around the blade as she eased it forward.

Gabriel Dean could feel the panic taking over as he watched. His heart beat uncontrollably and he'd dispensed with even attempting to wipe the profuse sweat that pooled and dripped from his brow. _Disaster. This is a disaster_. The seconds ticked by, each one he was sure would end what he hoped was a farce, a ploy. _They wouldn't…would they?_ But, as he considered in that flash of seconds the entirety of the Games he had witnessed, he knew it was no trick, they would kill themselves. There was no salvation. End Game. He had lost.

The rest of the Gamemakers had filled the room and his assistants were now all staring at him, red-faced, sweating, and distressed. "Sir…" One of them croaked. "Sir!" He turned to regard the young woman, Alyth, he thought her name was; it was her second Games in the control room. "Sir!" She said again, "There…there will be no victor."

_No victor._ It couldn't be. His eyes roamed the screens before him, the carefully kept order of the Capitol on the verge of collapse as the numbers of the crowd grew, all of them with three fingers raised.

"On the count of three, as hard as you can, ok?" Jane asked, moisture welled up in her eyes but she clenched her jaw and pressed the tip of her blade more forcefully into Maura's skin. "One…two…thr…"

"STOP!" Dean yelled into a broadcast microphone as he slammed his hand to a button on the main console and ignited the remaining mines behind Jane and Maura.

The shockwave tore them apart flinging Jane several feet away and slamming her hard to the ground. Her hand trembled as it closed around the dagger embedded an inch in her chest. Her grip on the handle loosened and fell away as she struggled to sit up but the proximity of the blast had left her disoriented with her ears ringing and nearly deaf.

Dean panted, his ragged breaths, the only sound in the stunned silence of the control room. _There was no other way._ Hoyt had been right: a spark is fine as long as it is contained. He could let them be martyrs or make them heroes. As he watched the screen he straightened up and squared his shoulders. Heroes could be dealt with, martyrs, he realized, would more than likely burn Panem to the ground. "Let them live," he said as he turned without a look towards anyone in the room and left.

A force seemed to wrap around her body and weightlessness overcame her. Jane could see the ground, her head lolled back and the shimmering silver underbelly of a hovercraft filled her view. The last thing she saw was Maura floating upwards towards the craft with her as Claudius Templesmith's confused voice crackled across the arena, "Ladies…and…and gentlemen. Your…victors in the 75th Hunger Games. Jane Rizzoli…and…Maura Isles. District 8."

"Maura…" Jane mumbled as she blacked out.

* * *

><p>A wave of shock and awe ripped through the stunned silence of the crowd. Their hands began to fall from the air back to their sides and confused chatter swept through them, hushed whispers at first but growing until Claudius Templesmith's announcement elicited a ground-shaking cheer that trumpeted through the Capitol.<p>

Korsak stood on the balcony, mouth agape at the scene unfolding on the screen and the raucous uproar from the ground below. He couldn't believe it, but the announcement had to be true. _Victors. Plural. Both of them_.

"I don't…it can't be! This has never happened before! It's patently against the rules!" Effie wrapped her hands around the upper rail of the balcony and looked out at the sea of people. "Is it true!? Is it really true!?" She covered her mouth and began to laugh, soon recovering her composure she clasped her hands together and smiled. "Two victors! It's wonderful!"

Cinna and Portia stood dumbfounded. "Vince," Cinna said softly placing his hand on the overwhelmed mentor's shoulder, "How is it possible? Hoyt? Would he allow them both to be victors?"

_Hoyt._ "Never," Korsak shook his head. "Only the Head Gamemaker would be able to intervene like that…" _Only the Head Gamemaker…which means…Hoyt…_ "I have to go!"

A new terror beset Korsak as he streaked for the suite elevator. President Charles Hoyt didn't tolerate defiance. Jane and Maura's actions had given Gabriel Dean virtually no other choice. The vengeance Hoyt would seek to perpetrate on all would likely be severe. He had brutalized Jane once; Korsak wouldn't allow it to happen again. And Maura, after everything they had been through, Hoyt was more likely to go after her in order to torture Jane. Horrifying thoughts swept through his head as he pounded on the buttons of the elevator.

The hovercraft would bring them to the medical wing of the Training Center; he would be there this time. Korsak flexed his fingers and stared at his palms, "I'll kill you, you son of a bitch. I swear to God, if you touch them. I'll kill you."

* * *

><p>Constance and Angela closed their eyes but the unexpected explosion shook them both. They gasped. Angela covered her mouth to stifle the cry and stood as the dust on the screen settled. The camera panned from Maura, curled into a ball with her hands pressed tightly over her ears as she shook, to Jane, several feet away, writhing in pain as she pulled the dagger from the shallow wound in her chest.<p>

"Janie!" Angela shrieked, falling to her knees in front of the television, her fingers raking through the thin layer of dust on the glass. "What's happening!?"

Constance, her eyes focused on the tv, clawed the air with one hand until her husband rushed into her arms, her legs nearly giving out as she sank into his embrace. "They're alive. They're both alive," she whispered in shock. "Look!"

The screen only showed the hovercraft removing them for a second before the camera switched to an aerial of the ground growing distant. Claudius Templesmith's shaky voice made the announcement.

They all turned to look at Head Peacekeeper Patrick Doyle, who stood with the same shocked look on his face as he stared at the now blank screen.

"It's true, right?" Constance asked, her voice quivering as she walked towards him. "He couldn't say it if it weren't true."

"No," Doyle nodded. "No, he couldn't say it if it weren't true. The repercussions could be too great…riots, unrest…" Suddenly, at the mention of unrest, Doyle remembered he didn't have the luxury of being a spectator. He was the Head Peacekeeper for District 8. With Angela and the Isles' on his heels he bolted for the Justice Building.

Those who had stayed inside to watch spilled out as they passed. When they arrived at the central viewing location outside the Justice Building the crowd of District 8 was silent until they glimpsed Angela and Constance and began to cheer.

The lower Peacekeepers perked up at the sight of Doyle, converging on him with a slew of questions. Was it true? How was it possible? Should they disperse the crowd? "Let them be," Doyle ordered.

Friends and acquaintances surrounded Angela and Constance. All the fear and sadness from Constance's face had disappeared, she smiled and accepted the hugs and outstretched hands with gratitude. Her daughter was alive. Angela, however, knew that there was a price to victory. She pushed away from the encroaching masses until she found her way to the steps of the Justice building and climbed until she could rest her hands against the giant entrance door.

"Angela!"

She turned when she heard the familiar voice and saw Carla Tallucci dragging an almost bewildered Patrick Doyle by the arm. "Angela." Carla grabbed her friend by the forearm and pulled her close, her face stern and serious. "You have to tell him. You have to tell him what happened before. What could happen again. He's the only one of us that could possibly do anything."

"Tell me what?" Doyle's brow furrowed and his lips became a thin and concerned line. "Angela…"

"Hoyt…" Angela choked out on a whisper. "He…he doesn't just let them win. He hurts them afterwards. He hurt Jane before." She closed her eyes as the tears streaked down her face. Jane had never even told her what happened. When the brooding, the anxiety, and the nightmares that woke her daughter screaming in the night became too much to bear she had gone to Korsak and demanded to know whatever it was that was being withheld from her. He had told her why Jane had the scars on her palms, what he had seen in that hospital room, and what Hoyt did to him and the other victors. "He violated her after the Games." Constance had joined them now and her smile had withered as she listened to Angela. "He'll do it again…and to Maura too."

Red streaks ignited Doyle's skin and crept out from under the white neck of his Peacekeeper's uniform. His jaw clenched so tightly the muscles at the joint trembled as the veins on his face bulged. Joining Angela and Constance's hands he turned silently and began to walk away.

"Patrick?" Constance called after him. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Where are you going?"

He smoothed the front of his uniform and squared his shoulders as his hand fell to the weapon on his hip, "The Capitol."

* * *

><p>Gabriel Dean locked himself in the bathroom off the main control room. Cold water filled his cupped hands and he splashed the refreshing liquid repeatedly across his face. When he looked into the mirror he almost didn't recognize himself. Hair hung limp and dripping, long, uncut sections stuck to his face as rivulets trickled down his skin and dripped from his jaw. Dark circles he didn't recall having were frighteningly prominent under his eyes. The eyes themselves were dull and lifeless. His palms left sweat stains on the marble counter as he lifted them and stared at his hands. The 75th Games, the arena, he had planned and created it all. The very fingers he wiggled in front of himself had operated the controls, fulfilled destinies, and ensured death. In the end, they had also done what no one would have considered an option: they had stopped the Games and given the people two victors.<p>

A soft knock on the door pulled him from his reflection. "Sir…" the voice sounded uncertain and scared. "Sir…President Hoyt has summoned you to his office."

Dean nodded, slicked back his hair, and adjusted his suit. "Whatever happens," he told himself as he walked to the door, "you gave them a Games that will never be forgotten."

By the time he reached the President's mansion from central command at the Training Center he ascertained the hovercraft should just about be arriving at the medical wing with Jane and Maura. He took one last look skyward in hopes of seeing the glint of the sun off a silver hull but the air space above was still and silent.

Two members of Hoyt's personal guard met him and escorted him through the vast labyrinth of the palatial estate until they came to a halt outside of the familiar double oaken doors that led into the President's main office.

Hoyt was sipping a deep amber brandy when he entered. His eyes glanced towards Dean and then back to his drink. Swirl. Sniff. Sip. "Am I dreaming, Gabriel? Or, did I just see what I think I saw?"

Silence seemed a fit confirmation but Hoyt turned and his glassy eyes burrowed deep into Dean until they forcefully pulled an answer free. "It is as it appeared."

"Did you enjoy the power, Gabriel?"

Dean tried to mask the emotions on his face, but shifted nervously from foot to foot. "I enjoy serving the Capitol."

"Enjoyed," Hoyt corrected. "And tell me, how this exactly, serves me?"

"It serves the Capitol, sir," Dean answered defiantly.

"I AM THE CAPITOL!" Hoyt bellowed, slamming his glass to the corner of the bar, shattering it and squeezing the fractured shards in his palm until blood dripped from his grasp and mingled with the pooling amber liquid on the floor.

"Sometimes things catch fire…and burn," Dean continued. "Sometimes a spark is ignited and it can't be contained. In that moment, you have to realize that the only way to quell the flame is to remove the fuel and let it burn itself out. Martyrdom is fuel. Their deaths would have ensured a firestorm, consumed us all. You saw the screens. Their deaths would have been the oxygen that fanned the flames of rebellion across Panem."

Hoyt poured himself another glass of brandy and filled a second tumbler as well. "And, dear Gabriel, pray tell…what do you think their living will do?"

He handed his Head Gamemaker the poured drink and raised his own and tapped the lips of the glasses together. Dean watched bright red swirls of crimson wind around the glass in Hoyt's hand, linger at the bottom, and then fall to the carpet.

"To what shall we toast?" Hoyt sneered.

"To catching fire…and putting it out," Dean responded as he took a sip. The warm liquid burned with remarkable pain down his throat and settled like a hot coal in his gut. He watched as Hoyt tipped his glass and the liquid fell in a sustained stream until every last drop had splattered to the floor. The glass fell from Dean's hand as a violent spasm wrenched away control of his muscles and sent him crashing to his knees. An excruciating wave of paralysis rolled through his body as Dean's mouth fell open in a futile attempt to breathe.

"To catching fire and putting it out," Hoyt repeated. "Indeed."


	22. Ghosts

**Author's Note: **Just to be safe, throwing out a warning for non-explicit rape reference/allusion.

**CH 22: Ghosts**

Maura's pupils constricted as the light floated back and forth in front of her eyes. White shadows hovered around her. She could feel them clawing, fingers dragging across her skin, pushing and pulling her in opposite directions, tearing what remained of the tattered and soiled clothing from her body until she was completely exposed. Hands were on her from all directions, the tacky sensation of latex groping her arms and legs, kneading and prodding at her stomach and sides, grazing her breasts. The touches stirred nothing within her. Her mind set to counting the sets of hands. _One set. Two sets. Three sets._

_Three._ The number repeated itself in her head. _Three. One, two, three. Three. Three. Three._ Over and over again. _Why that number?_ She clenched her hand, balling her fist. There was supposed to be something there. _Open. Close. Flex. Fist. What makes you think I can live without you?_ A dagger. A dagger was supposed to be there, but her fingers no longer registered the hard rubber of the handle. _Three._

_Pupils responsive._ Voices. Just barely. Wherever they were, however many there were, they must have belonged to the hands. The sound was shrouded in a deafening ringing, muffled and bizarre, like being underwater.

Like…one arm wrapped around her knees and the other hand holding her nose, pinching it shut, as she held her breath under the warm water of her bath. Hair floated weightless, lingering in front of her eyes and rolling away with the undulating ripples as she moved in the tub. _Darling, what are you doing?_ Her ears couldn't locate the origin of the sound through the dense distortion of the encapsulating liquid. The sound was everywhere, all around, mostly vowels. Bubbles. Running out of air. Even the image was transformed, almost faceless. But, there was the faint reflection of dark hair and a smile. _Mother. _She sat up, hair plastered to her face, water falling in sheets from her head back to the tub, dripping from her eyelashes and blurring her vision. _Trying to see how long I can hold my breath._

The needles felt more like mosquito bites than pin pricks. An ignorable nuisance. One of the white shadows pried her hand open. It was warm and wet with blood from her nails gouging into the callused but vulnerable flesh. _Minimal response to pain stimuli. She's in shock._

The words should have had meaning, but they didn't. She disregarded them. Useless babble from faceless ghosts. _Three. On the count of three. One, two, three._ Maura looked at her hand, watching the blood dribble down her palm and serpentine around her wrist and down her arm. It didn't even seem strange at first. In recent memory there hadn't been a day without blood. It blended in and disappeared into the camouflage of dirt and grime where soft, porcelain skin had once been. _Three. _And then it hit her._ I'm alive._ Her eyes widened and she sucked in as much air as her lungs could hold. _Jane. JANE! JANE! _ The ringing. The infernal ringing. She thought she cried out only in her head. So little could be heard over the ringing. In reality….

"JANE! JANE! JANE!" Maura's body lurched and pitched against the medical team's attempts to keep her restrained. She shrieked, over and over, the shrill and blood-curdling scream drowning out all other sounds in the hovercraft. If she was alive, that had to mean that Jane was dead.

* * *

><p>When Jane regained consciousness she recognized the familiar minimalist setup of a hovercraft triage bay. The dagger still protruding from her chest was hard to miss. The sight of it shot a streak of terror through her body and instinctively she reached for it to yank it out. A white-gloved hand caught her and pulled her arm back down. She was wracked with confusion. She had bore down on the dagger Maura gripped with no intention of delivering the same blow. She had lied and deceived her, but Maura would live. And now…Jane closed her eyes and tried to make sense of it, piece together the last moments she could recollect. <em>BOOM. An explosion. STOP! A voice. Floating through the air. Are we both alive?<em>

"It's too deep to remove here. The surgeons will take care of it once we reach the medical facility," the blue eyes explained. That's all she could see. Blue eyes. The voice was muffled by a white paper mask that covered the entire lower half of the woman's face. Her hair was concealed under a white cap; a white-gloved hand held her by the wrist, and the body was rendered androgynous by a white smock. If it hadn't been for the feminine voice, Jane wouldn't have known if it were a man or a woman.

_Pain. Why isn't there pain?_ She looked down and saw the intravenous lines already secured in her arms. _No. No._ Her eyes filled with tears. Jane watched as the woman filled a syringe. They would put her under, drug her, and it could be days before she woke again, maybe even longer. As that syringe squeezed out drop by crop of liquid darkness, they would steal her awareness, her control.

"Maura…?" she managed faintly through the pounding panic in her head and chest as the nurse returned to her side, lowering the syringe to the IV port in her arm.

"She's in capable hands with another triage team, we'll be at the training center shortly," the woman moved to administer the drug, but Jane caught her hand.

"Please," she pled softly. "Not like last time. Let me stay awake."

"It's against protocol."

Jane's hand tightened around the woman's delicate wrist until the nurse began to whimper in pain, "Please…I just…need to be awake until surgery. I need to see her, if only for a second when they wheel us out of here."

A white latex-clad thumb slowly pressed the plunger and let the clear liquid dribble to the floor. "Pretend to be asleep."

* * *

><p>Korsak had ransacked his way through the medical facility like a crazed bull on a rampage. Nurses, orderlies, even a few Avoxes tried to block his path, but the adrenaline coursed through him like a wave of invincibility. He practically threw them all to the side, scrapping his way to the hovercraft landing pad on the roof of the medical facility wing. Seventeen years ago he'd sat in the waiting room with Gaia Baldrick for days until the suspicious and ominous feeling in his gut had become too overpowering. He'd been too late that time. Not again. Two Peacekeepers were all that blocked him from the doors. He rushed headlong into them and met his first real resistance. Landing an elbow against the temple of the shorter one he turned and grappled with the larger man.<p>

"I'm going out there!" He snarled, his voice rough and hoarse from stress and lack of sleep. "And the only way I'm not is if you shoot me!"

The Peacekeeper's giant hands could easily have wrestled Korsak to the floor and pinned him there, crushed his neck, or landed a stunning or black-out inducing blow against his head but the beast of a man seemed to enjoy the ultimatum and began to reach for his weapon.

"Stop!" The head surgeon appeared striding towards the door with his doubly enhanced cadre of assistants. Korsak recognized him immediately; he had been one of the support doctors seventeen years ago, when Jane had won the Games the first time. He had been one of the ones that came into Jane's room after Hoyt and had been the only one to approach her immediately as everyone stood back in fear, and rightly so, of their President. Seventeen years had aged him, but his features were still very much the same, especially the eyes. Kind eyes that had spoken what his lips didn't dare as he pulled the scalpels from her hands and held gauze to her palms to staunch the bleeding. "We respect our victors in this hospital," he said, directing his gaze towards the Peacekeeper, "we heal, we do no harm. Let him through."

_If only that were true_, Korsak thought, _if only that were really true._

He stepped out onto the hovercraft pad with the doctors and nurses. The wait wasn't long before he could see the silver bauble in the distance growing larger. It couldn't be mistaken for any other craft; the Capitol would have grounded all air traffic. Below, the city had grown quiet again. Sadness had, with the shout of Gabriel Dean's voice through the arena, exploded into elation. Now, the Capitol was shocked silent. Korsak had seen the Peacekeepers streaming out of the Training Center, most likely to strong arm the masses into quieting and returning to their homes. Within those walls, however, Korsak knew they waited, anticipating just like him, word on their victors.

The hovercraft landed with a subtle whirr and a gentle gust of air. They wasted no time opening the doors. The first gurney to emerge carried Jane, Korsak expected her to be unconscious but as the wheels transferred from the metal of the hovercraft ramp to the concrete of the landing pad he saw her chest and body bolt upwards followed by her desperate shouting of Maura's name.

He ran to her, pushing one of the nurses away and grabbing her hand, "She's right behind you Jane; she's right behind you!"

"I can't…I can't hear her! Maura!" She was trying to sit up, turn around, she needed to see her but more nurses and doctors descended and held her down.

"She's there," Korsak reassured her, "She's there. She's alive. She's unconscious."

Jane strained to listen for the creak of Maura's gurney behind her: that she could hear, and the triage team apprising the surgical team of her condition. But, as they entered the hospital and began to turn down corridors, Jane could no longer hear the gurney as closely. "Where is she!?"

"They're taking her to her own operating room," the doctor with the kind eyes explained.

Ripping her hand from Korsak's grasp she clawed at his chest until she was able to wad his tie in her fist and pull him closer, "Go with her!" The command rumbled out of her throat like rocks in a grinder.

"But, Hoyt…" Korsak whispered.

"Don't you dare let him touch her, Korsak. Don't you dare let him touch her! You promised!" Jane snarled. "Go!" She shrieked as the doctors wheeled her into the operating room.

Korsak stopped and loosed his tie from his neck, throwing it to the ground before slamming his fist into the small glass square in the center of the operating room door. A crack streaked from where his fist made contact to the corner. It hadn't crossed his mind as the stupefying events of the last hour had unfolded. There were two of them and only one of him. He couldn't sit vigil with them both. He could only spare one from Charles Hoyt.

* * *

><p><em>I love you, forever<em>. Jane whispered.

_Forever._ Maura whispered back.

_Forever._ Jane's face flashed in her memory, clean, unmarred by their time in the arena. _BOOM. Forever._

"Forever," Maura whispered as she woke, "…too long without you." Her eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the soft yellow light that glowed from the ceiling. The room was stark, unfurnished she noticed as her eyes traveled from left to right, sweeping around her confines. Tubes stretched from her arm, back and over her head to some endpoint she couldn't see. The ringing in her ears was gone and as her eyes continued to focus she felt two hands envelop her right hand. "Korsak," she mumbled as she looked into her mentor's eyes.

"Welcome back," he placed one hand lightly on her chest as she struggled to sit up. "You're restrained. Don't fight it and don't make too much noise or they'll sedate you."

"Three…" Her nose crinkled and her lips quivered as tears began to streak down her face. "We…counted to three. And Jane is…I killed her…"

Korsak's mouth fell open. She didn't know. When he had bolted from the suite one day prior to meet the hovercraft on arrival, the telecast had shown Maura conscious. But, in the melee and confusion of the explosion and their extraction from the arena she had failed to realize that they had both been saved.

"No!" He assured her. "No. Jane is alive. Gabriel Dean set off the mines to keep you from carrying through with that suicide pact. He declared you both victors."

Maura kicked frantically at the bed sheets, completely disregarding the fact that she was nude underneath them. "Where!? Where is she!?" She pulled against the restraint around her waist and a pain shot through her side and crippled her attempt. It felt like being stabbed by Silas all over again.

Quickly grabbing the sheets from around her thighs, Korsak covered her and placed his hands on her shoulders to still her movement, "Your wound was necrotic from the infection. They had to excise and debris the tract and surrounding area. They're regenerating your tissue little by little, but you're not completely healed yet. They don't keep patients together; Jane is in another room."

_Alone_. The thought was more horrifying than waking up and thinking Jane was dead. Hoyt had tortured her once and sent Jane home nearly broken. She couldn't forget the day she'd shown up at Jane's apartment to find her sweating, panicked, and fleeing from the persistent waking dream where she relived that violation. _It can't hurt you anymore. It…He._ Maura didn't even know what the source of Jane's fear was when she comforted her with those words. Reaping Day came and Jane had finally laid bare her burden. _It won't be you. _ Maura had been so sure of it, that Jane wouldn't be reaped, that she would never have to return to the Capitol. Jane volunteered. And now…now, she was all alone…she was his prey once again.

The gleam from the ring caught her eye, Maura tugged it off and pressed it into Korsak's hand, "You have to go to her. He'll hurt her again. Protect her, Korsak. Keep her safe. Please. Please don't let him have her," she began to sob, voice and body shaking as she tried to push Korsak away from her bedside. "He's taken too much from her already. She doesn't have anything left to give him."

Korsak didn't budge. He took Maura's hand and slid the ring back on her finger despite her crying protest. "I can't be in two places. If I leave you, to go to her…"

Maura nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she summoned the bravery the arena had awakened within her. "He'll come for me instead. She was going to die for me back there. I'll bear this for her."

He could only hold the tears back for so long. Korsak slammed his eyes shut as the salty droplets dotted the sheets on the bed. Bringing Maura's hand, clasped in his own to his forehead he shook his head. "I promised her," he whispered. "I promised her I wouldn't let him near you; that, I'd keep you safe. I failed her once before. Fourteen years ago the train only brought me home. Somehow she forgave me for that. If I leave you now, she'll never forgive me. Protecting you matters more to her than her own safety and suffering. You…Hoyt…_**that**_ would break her. I can't do that to her Maura; I can't fail her again."

* * *

><p><em>How long?<em> Jane's eyes flickered open and were filled by a white ceiling and the peripheral orientation of white walls. Artificial light illuminated the spartan room. No windows. One door. Tubes. An empty instrument tray to her left, a spark of silver in a sea of white. For all of the Capitol's ostentatious frivolity, their garish clothing, and absurd cosmetics, their hospital rooms were carefully planned minimalist voids. Sterile. She could wake now, and again, and again, and there was nothing in the room to be touched or moved to indicate anyone had ever been there. One day, one week, unless someone told her she couldn't know how long she had even been there.

But, as the anesthesia induced haze began to seep from in front of her eyes she could make out a shadow to her right.

Her heart began to pound as she blinked rapidly trying to bring it all into focus. The sudden spike in her adrenaline didn't help, just as things had started to clear, the panic sent a flash of white spots to cloud her vision.

Jane closed her eyes. She had known. It was the price. If he was there, beside her, it meant that Maura was safe. _Maura's safe. Maura won't be touched. _Over and over she told herself that as a rough hand covered her hand. She jerked, but heavy leather wrist restraints kept her arms forcefully immobilized at her sides. _Maura's safe. Maura won't be touched._ The recognition of that, while an immense relief did little to still her accelerating heartbeat and the knot that began to twist and burn in her stomach. Boiling, her body flushed in anticipation of further touch. She felt the curdling sensation in her stomach begin to rise, and fear and weakness threaten to loose her bowels.

Gritting her teeth and grumbling in her throat, Jane willed herself to open her eyes and face him. Defiantly and against all odds, she'd won his vile Games twice. He couldn't have the satisfaction of seeing her tremble in fear, cry, and soil herself in terror of him. He could take her body. This time, she had something to live for and no one owned that part of her but Maura.

_One…two…three. Open._ The spots that had previously hung in front of her eyes flickered to the periphery. His face began to sharpen and come into focus. It had been so many years since she'd seen his face up close, and it had aged. There were lines where younger, smoother skin had been. Some faint scars transected his brow and down to his cheek. His hair was stringier, duller. But, as she stared at him looking down at her, one thing about him had stayed exactly the same. The eyes. The passing years might have changed him in many ways, rendered his frame frailer, his skin thinner, but nothing had dulled the spark she remembered seeing burn in his eyes.

He rubbed her hand, the rough pads of his fingertips stroking her arena-marked skin. In the coming days the teams of doctors would slowly rejuvenate her body and cleanse away every scratch, scrape, and scar from the arena…as if they had never happened. At least, the outwards signs anyway. With a deft pull of a strap he loosened the wrist restraint and trembling, Jane pulled her hand free. Leaning over her, he freed her other hand and then removed the restraint across her waist.

In a moment almost too surreal to comprehend, Jane watched his lips part, but only a silent breath escaped them. He brought his hand to her forehead, brushed the tips of his fingers through her hair, savoring the texture of the familiar strands between his fingers until he covered her cheek with his palm.

Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes and pooled in the crevice where his hand met her face. Jane covered his hand with one of hers as the other latched on and squeezed his wrist with thankful desperation. Through the tears and the shock she found her voice though she knew he could not answer, "Tommy?"


	23. The Price

**Warning: **Trigger for sexual assault.

**CH 23: The Price**

The drugs kept her in and out of consciousness. Jane didn't fight it; when she started to go back under the first time after waking, Tommy saw the panic in her eyes and squeezed her hand with an unrelenting force that, while painful, was the only way he could convey to her that he wasn't going to leave. She took a deep breath, nodded, and let her eyes close.

It was always the same: the look of the room, the lighting. Daytime. Nighttime. There was no way to know. With each waking moment she was that little bit more lucid. Jane curled her hand, expecting to find it warm and filled by another but it was empty.

"Tommy!" She called out, pulling forward against the refastened restraints.

"Easy," the voice answered, his face coming into focus. A doctor with the kindest eyes she'd ever seen pressed gently on her shoulders. "Who's Tommy?" He asked, loosening the padded leather cuffs around her wrists.

"My brother," Jane answered. "He was here…"

"You mean the Avox?" The doctor asked, waving a small flashlight in front of her eyes.

Jane nodded, "My brother."

"No," the doctor corrected, lightly taking hold of her face as he stared sternly into her eyes. "The…Avox." His eyes widened as he said it, jaw clenching, not another muscle in his face moving as his gaze bore into her. "Do you understand?" He asked.

She paused, letting it sink in through the fog of trauma and chemical sedatives. The people in the Capitol were always playing games. She wasn't crazy; Jane knew that she wasn't. It was Tommy. She stared back at him. "I remember you."

"Yes, of course you do. I was there when they brought you off the hovercraft from the arena," he smiled.

"No," Jane held up her freed hands, the scars on her palms so painfully evident even seventeen years later. "I…remember you." It all started to become clear. His eyes. She couldn't forget those eyes. There had been tears in them before, when he approached her with all the finesse of someone who knew how to earn the trust of a wounded animal. He had been the only one that had looked at her as if she were really a human being and deserved care rather than it being an obligatory function of his job.

_I'm not going to hurt you_. He reached slowly for the sheet to cover her nakedness and then gently freed each of her wrists. There was no gentle way to pull the scalpels out. He'd held a roll of gauze to the center of each one, massaging her wrist while he stopped the bleeding. There was sincere remorse in his eyes when Hoyt had left and told him to let them scar.

"I remember you," she repeated again, more sure this time.

He took one of her hands and held it, his thumb pressing into the scar in the center. "We respect our victors here. We keep them safe." His eyebrows lifted as he asked again, "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Jane nodded, "Yes, I understand." The excitement in her chest began to settle. _Maybe_, the thought began to invade her mind even though she tried not to succumb it, _maybe this time, I've paid enough._

The doctor smiled and released her hand, "The Avox went to retrieve fresh bed linens. He should be back shortly."

* * *

><p>The next time she woke the familiar comfort of his hand had returned. "Tommy?" she whispered as she opened her eyes and found him by her side. "How many days has it been?"<p>

He raised his hand and held up two fingers.

_Two days. Only two._ She wondered if Maura had been awake yet. Why Korsak hadn't arranged for them to be in the same room. She felt stronger today than she had the previous, as she peeked down at her chest she could see the doctors had almost completely regenerated the stab wound to her chest. No doubt the lingering burn scars from the early days in the arena were almost healed as well. She could walk; she knew she could, if only she knew where to find her. "Do you know where Maura is?"

He shook his head. _No_.

"You really can't speak?" Jane reached up to wipe the tears away. Her brother was alive, but the Capitol had maimed him, just as it had maimed her. Their scars were different, but they were there nonetheless.

His face fell at the question. Seventeen years and he still felt the horrific burn of when they cut his tongue out and injected the chemicals of liquid fire into his throat. Tommy brought his hand to his mouth and covered it, letting the rough pads of his fingers drag across his lips. He wished they had just sealed his mouth too. Then, at least he couldn't open it, couldn't form the words only to have nothing come out. For months after they turned him into this shadow he'd stared in the small mirror in his cell and tried to scream, convinced that it would come back…that his voice would return. It never did.

"When I came back the first time, you were gone," Jane reached for his face, strained until he gave in and leaned down so she could run her hand through his sparse hair and over his gaunt cheek. "Ma didn't know where you were. No one knew. They only said you'd been arrested. They wouldn't even say what for." She paused as he closed his eyes. "What happened, Tommy? What happened to you?"

Familial eyes, eyes just a shade lighter blue than their mother's grey-brown eyes, opened slowly. _You'll never understand._ He made the childlike motion of a choo-choo train.

Jane stared, perplexed at his attempt at charades. "Train?"

_Yes._ He nodded; bringing his hands together as if he were holding a ball he threw them apart as his fingers flared. His lips tried to form the sound. _Boom._

She watched as he repeated the motion and kept mouthing the word. Jane's mouth fell open and her eyes locked on his as it all started to unravel. "Boom," she whispered. He motioned for more. "Boom…B…Bomb! A bomb on the train?"

_Close._ He pointed at himself, made the motion of the bomb and then of the train.

"You…bomb…train." Jane's eyes flashed with understanding. "You didn't come see me off at the Justice Building because you were trying to bomb the train. You…" Tears welled up in her eyes and fell down her cheeks as she shook her head. Tommy reached out to catch them on his fingers. "You were trying to stop the train from taking me to the Capitol. You were trying to save me," she whispered.

It wasn't that hard to build a bomb. Surprisingly. Tommy had been skeptical at first, but Shane Finnegan swore the factories kept several kinds of chemicals that were highly combustible. His father was a janitor at the factory that made Peacekeeper uniforms. Shane helped him out on the overnight shift sometimes; it was easy to squirrel away some of the chemicals as long as he did it little by little. Joey Grant's father worked construction. He had more than easy access to nails and other small, sharp things that could be used as projectiles. They were both older than Tommy. But, Tommy preferred hanging out with the older boys. The older boys were more fun, more willing to push boundaries, less afraid of what getting in trouble might mean. In Shane and Joey's case, they only started hanging out with him because they both had crushes on Jane. He didn't mind; they became friends in their own right after a while.

They had worked for months, stealing little by little enough items to put together three very crude bombs. They didn't even know what for. A condemned wing of one of the apartment buildings in the projects was their workshop. They would sneak away, meet up there, sometimes Joey brought a little booze he'd stolen from the stash his father had. Raymond Grant did maintenance on Sean Cavanaugh's basement and was more than happy to be paid in free spirits. Tipsy or drunk and emboldened by youth they built their bombs just for the hell of it and talked big dreams of being the leaders of a rebellion that would free the districts of Panem from the Capitol. Tommy figured they'd just bide their time until they could find a free moment to test one out in some unpopulated corner of the district for no other real reason than boyish youthful fun. That would be the end of it. Some rebels they were.

Then, Jane was reaped.

It was Tommy that had suggested it, pulled Shane and Joey from the Reaping lines as soon as it was over. _What if we blow up the tracks and the front of the train? Then they can't take her._

Shane retrieved the bombs while he and Joey figured out how to get on the tracks. It was all off the cuff. There had never been a plan, no forethought. In the end when it came time to actually try and set the explosive devices, Shane and Joey backed out, ran away and hid to watch. Jane was only their crush, and there were other girls in District 8. But, she was his sister. And the Capitol couldn't have her. Not if there was any way he could stop them.

He almost had them lit. Almost. The last thing he remembered was Peacekeeper Crowe's boot driving towards his head like a great, black piston. He woke up in a holding cell under the Justice Building, swore that he'd made the bombs all by himself, that it was all his idea. Peacekeeper Crowe's fists were as ruthless as his boot, but Tommy wouldn't yield. _It was me. It was only me. I couldn't let them take my sister._ He'd been asked how he knew Jane would be reaped. _I didn't. It was a precaution. In case it was either Jane or Frankie._ When Head Peacekeeper Patrick Doyle finally called a halt to Crowe's interrogation he couldn't see out of either eye. The next time he could open them, he was already in the Capitol.

"They would have taken me anyway, Tommy. Hovercraft. Something. They would have taken me anyway." Jane cried, holding tightly to his hand.

He knew that now.

* * *

><p>District 8 was at least two days by train from the Capitol. And that was only if the train happened to be one of the Capitol's luxury passenger models sent to retrieve the tributes for the Games. That train came to pick tributes up, deliver the victor home, and ferry them throughout the other districts on their victory tour. There were no other passenger trains. No one was allowed to leave the district, except for the Peacekeepers and the occasional personnel from the Capitol, such as an actual doctor, or specialty workers. Even then, they had to take one of the freight trains that ferried the district's textiles or brought in supplies. Those trains were slow and had many scheduled stops along the way.<p>

Head Peacekeeper Patrick Doyle knew he didn't have five days or more; he needed to get to the Capitol as soon as possible.

They were allowed one hovercraft for emergency use. Technically, the Peacekeepers required clearance from the Capitol and an approved flight plan. Technically. He never thought twice about it when he left the Justice Building after Angela's revelation and made his way straight to the vehicle yard.

"Have you thought this through?" The voice came from behind him.

Peacekeeper Martell had followed him, no doubt predicting his plan. Martell would be Head Peacekeeper one day, Doyle had always thought. As he looked at his colleague he thought now, perhaps sooner rather than later.

"I have to go. She's my daughter."

"That's why they have the rule, you know." Martell walked towards him. "Twenty years of service, no marriage, no children. Because of things like this. You're the hardest, toughest, possibly most ruthless man I've ever known, Patrick. You've enforced the rules of Panem in District 8 unwaveringly; you've punished its citizens, sent plenty off to the Capitol – to their death or to be enslaved. And even _**you**_ wouldn't choose the Capitol over your own daughter."

"I've given them more than twenty years. I've paid for what I did thirty-four years ago. I'm taking this hovercraft, John. He hurts them, after they win. President Hoyt. He tortures them." Doyle's hand fell to his sidearm. "I'm taking this hovercraft and making sure my daughter and her…and Jane are safe. You can get out of the way, or I can shoot you."

Martell chuckled, that was the Patrick Doyle he knew. "Takes two to fly a hovercraft, Patrick. You know that."

Doyle's brow knitted together, his hand falling slightly away from the gun on his hip, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying…I loved a girl once. Had this fantasy all in my head of what it would be like to marry her, have a house, kids. I wanted a daughter. I would have named her Julia after my grandmother. I put a stop to it. Held up my end of the vows to the state. And I've spent every day of my life since regretting it. I'm saying, Patrick…I'm going to help you fly this damn thing to the Capitol." He brought three fingers to his lips and held them aloft to drive the point home.

It wasn't long before the grey, concrete monotony of the district was behind them and long, untouched open land rushed by in a blur of late fall colors. _People could live here_, Doyle thought. _The district fences could be extended; there would be green space…color. Things would grow. People would…live, not just get by._

"Do you know where to go once we get there?" Martell asked.

"The tributes are taken to the medical wing at the Training Center after they're evacuated from the arena."

"Ah," Martell nodded. "And…you know where that is?"

"I do." Doyle replied, not looking up from the controls.

Martell stared at him, his curiosity piqued. He'd never met a Peacekeeper that wasn't from District 2. They were almost all from District 2, born, and raised for this service. As far as he knew, Patrick Doyle's entire tenure of service had been in District 8. "How?"

With a deep breath, Doyle turned his head and locked eyes with his colleague. "Because…I'm from there."

* * *

><p>The stark hospital room was almost an exercise in sensory deprivation. As soon as Jane woke she felt instantly tired again. Sleep was the only escape. They would let her go eventually. When they were satisfied she was healed, they would release her. The Games weren't over; the people would be waiting for the recap special and the victor…victors' interviews.<p>

Tommy was still there. Jane lifted the sheet and saw that at least now she was dressed. A flimsy white hospital gown, but it was progress. "What day is it now?"

_Three._ He held up three fingers.

Jane held up one finger, "Morning?" Two fingers, "Afternoon?" Three fingers, "Or night."

_Early morning._ Tommy held up one finger and bent it in half.

Jane chuckled, "Early morning?" He nodded.

The door to her room opened. Jane could hear it, but couldn't see it as Tommy blocked her view. He looked over his shoulder and wrenched his hand from her grasp as he took a giant step back, averted his eyes, and bowed his head.

She was already anticipating her doctor, "Morning, Doct…"

"Good morning, Jane." Her name slithered off of his tongue with a burning hiss.

It had all been too good to be true. Tommy. The kind-eyed doctor. They couldn't save her. He had come to call in her debt. Jane clenched her fists to keep her hands from trembling. She closed her eyes and opened them in the futile hope that it was all a dream. But, it wasn't. President Hoyt was standing at the foot of her bed.

* * *

><p>The dreams were always different, but they were always of Jane. Sometimes they were frantic nightmares, relived memories from the arena. At other times they were tender and sweet and so real she awoke with the tangible sensation of Jane's hands on her body. They never were. This time, she dreamed of the chariot ride, their arms bound together by the silk ties, hands lifted in the air as President Hoyt looked down at them from his balcony. <em>Maura.<em> She heard Jane call her name as it echoed through the dream. _Jane_, she whispered in reply. _Jane. Jaaaane_. This time, it wasn't her. This time, Jane's name invaded her subconscious on a thin and raspy tongue. _I've missed you Jane._

Maura awoke with a start. _Hoyt_.

Korsak tried to calm her but she fought him despite the still lingering pain in her side and the full body weakness she hadn't yet overcome. "Hoyt! You have to go to her Korsak. You have to go! You have to go now!"

"Easy! Easy," he repeated, trying to soothe her. "You've had a nightmare."

"No!" Maura shook her head, still pushing back against him. "I can feel it, Vince. I can feel him near her."

* * *

><p>Jane held her breath as he leaned over her, scalpel in hand. He smelled, just as he had before. Sweet, like flowers, and sour like he used the cologne to mask the scent of decay. The memory of it was acrid in her throat and curdled her stomach. Her eyes glanced to the side and found Tommy, standing idly several feet away, his own gaze glued to the floor. <em>He doesn't know<em>, she remembered. _He doesn't know what happened to me before, what's about to happen to me again._

"Oh, how I've missed you, Jane," Hoyt whispered in her ear, his lips brushing lightly across the skin of her neck. He pulled the sheet down and ran his fingers from her balled fist, up the length of her arm until he caressed and cupped her trembling face. "I see you're not restrained this time. Yet, you're restraining yourself. Is that because you know what I'll do to her if you resist?"

"Don't you touch her," Jane growled between gritted teeth.

"There's that defiance I remember so well. You put on quite a show this time, Jane. Quite a show. And everyone fell for it. Everyone. The citizens, the Gamemakers, Gabriel Dean." He ran the scalpel along her neck and left a superficial cut in its wake. "Gabriel Dean, I had such high hopes for him," he sighed. Pulling the top of her gown down he regarded the almost completely knitted together scar on her chest. "Everyone…but me. I knew you wouldn't do it…kill her." His hand slipped lower and squeezed her breast. "Did you miss me, Jane? Did you dream of me all these years?"

Her voice quaked as she answered, "All the time."

"Ah!" He smiled, his hand moving to her knee and dragging slowly along the inside of her thigh as he pushed her gown up. "In these dreams…" his hand disappeared between her legs, "…were we lovers?"

She closed her eyes as hot tears began to singe her cheeks. Then…she was falling. The floor was cold and hard as her head slammed into it, the metallic clang of the bed flipping and smashing into the instrument tray reverberated in her ears. Dazed, she opened her eyes to see Tommy on top of him, hands wrapped around Hoyt's throat as crimson droplets rained down on the pristine white floor as Hoyt thrust the scalpel into him over and over.

"GUARDS!" Hoyt bellowed as the room descended into chaos.

Doctors, nurses, Peacekeepers all poured in.

"Tommy!" Jane shrieked. Only when the doctor with the kind eyes turned from helping Hoyt to his feet, a look of terror in his eyes, did she realize what she had done.

"Tommy…" Hoyt whispered and looked at the Avox being simultaneously held down by his own guard and tended by the nurses. _Tommy…Rizzoli. _The anger on his face twisted into a vile sneer.

She trembled as Hoyt began to approach her again. His hand, saturated with Tommy's blood reaching for her face.

"Don't you dare touch her!"

That voice. Jane could only hear it, note its familiarity. She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes as she waited for his hands to once again be on her, violating her. But, it wasn't a slick and bloody caress that found its way to her skin. One arm wrapped around her back, the other under her legs and suddenly she wasn't on the hard, cold floor anymore.

When she opened her eyes her face was buried in the white shoulder of a Peacekeeper's uniform.

"You have made a grievous error," Hoyt said to the man holding her.

And then they were moving. "No," Jane mumbled into the shoulder, "My brother. No!"

She opened her eyes as they exited the room. The doctor with the kind eyes was kneeling at Tommy's side. Hoyt watched her go and then looked at her brother, "Let him die," he commanded as he exited and disappeared down a different hall.

"No!" Jane screamed.

With a wall of doctors, nurses, and Peacekeepers at his back, the kind-eyed doctor locked eyes with Jane as she screamed. He brought three fingers to his lips and held them out to her. And then they were rounding a corner and the sight of Tommy was gone.

* * *

><p>Hallway after hallway, turn after turn, Jane let her head bob and rock against the stranger's shoulder. He was cradling her, carrying her away. She wanted the dream to last as long as possible, so that when she woke up, she'd be alone again. She'd lost both her brothers, now, one of them twice. At some point, the nightmare had to end.<p>

Finally, she forced herself to raise her head and look at him, distant, almost disassociated from the reality that she was fighting, "You look like Patrick Doyle," she said as she laid her head back on his shoulder.

"I am Patrick Doyle."

"No, you're not," Jane responded. Her voice was blank, emotionless. "Patrick Doyle is back in District 8. This isn't real."

"You think this is a dream?"

Jane nodded against him, "Of course it is. Hoyt's raping me right now. I'm dreaming that you've rescued me so that I don't have to be there for it."

He tightened his grip around her. "And of all the people your subconscious could come up with to rescue you…it chooses me?"

"An odd choice," Jane agreed.

Doyle stopped outside a door. "It's not a dream, Jane." She still didn't believe him. "What happens when you fall in a dream?"

She looked up at him, "You always wake up before you hit the ground."

He dropped her. Let her crash to the tile floor of the hallway. Kneeling, he wiped away the single tear that accumulated and fell from the corner of her eye and cupped her face. "He didn't rape you. Not this time. Not ever again. This is real. I asked you to protect my daughter, and you did. Whatever the cost of what just happened back there, I'll pay it. I owe you that. You're safe now, do you understand? You're safe and you're going to go home." Doyle pulled her to her feet and turned her around to face the door. "I think someone in there will be very happy to see you."

_Maura._ She walked hesitantly through the door, as if it still might be a trick. But, on the other side of the door, hazel eyes opened as she walked in.

"Jane!" Maura gasped. Korsak didn't even try to stop her as she ripped the tubes from her arms and bolted from the bed.

_Real_, Jane whispered to herself as Maura flew into her arms. She sank to the floor, Maura's arms and legs wrapped around her, her arms grasping desperately around the body hanging from her, the touch she had longed for three days to feel again. Several long minutes passed with nothing but the sound of sobbing and the trembling relief of being in one another's arms again.

Maura pulled back first and it was then she saw the blood on Jane's neck. "No…" she gasped, her hand moving to cover the wound. "I could feel it. I could feel your fear."

Jane nodded, their foreheads brushing together until she tilted her head and found her comfort in Maura's lips. "He didn't though…" she sniffled as the kiss waned. "My brother saved me."

Confusion settled on Maura's face.

"Tommy," Jane said, looking up at Korsak. "Tommy's here. He's…oh God, Korsak. Hoyt. Please." _He didn't leave me and I left him._ "Please, Korsak. Please go find him."

The news was a complete shock; Korsak's mouth hung open as he tried to process it until her pleading finally broke through. "I'll see what I can do." With that, he hastily ran from the room. Three days ago he'd resigned himself to only bringing one home, then all of a sudden it was two. Would the Capitol really give him three?

"And…" she coaxed Maura to look behind her. "He saved me too."

Their gazes fell on each other the first time since Jane had revealed Doyle's relation to her. Maura looked down at the ring on her finger as a volley of tears overtook her. "Thank you," she mouthed, wrapping her arms tighter around Jane, twining one hand in her hair as she pressed their cheeks together. "No one's taking you away from me again. No one." Maura ran her hands all over Jane's face, brushing the tears away, feeling the touch of her skin after what seemed like an interminable number of days.

"I was supposed to die," Jane whispered into Maura's lips. "Seventeen years ago, two weeks ago, three days ago, today. I was supposed to die, but you gave me something worth fighting for. And now…we can go home together."

Maura kissed her again, deeply, as her fingers dug into Jane's body, holding her close until she could feel the heat of their embrace permeate her entire body. She broke off the kiss with a breathy sigh, "I…feel at home already."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> The cat is sort of out of the bag, but for those I haven't talked with privately, I am planning a sequel to this story that will roughly follow the outline of the third book in the Hunger Games series: Mockingjay. There are still a few chapters left though in part 1: Tribute that I hope you continue to enjoy as I bring the Quarter Quell proceedings and the return to District 8 to a close. I am mentioning this now because I'm not sure if I want to start a separate story file for the sequel or just continue it here in the Tribute file that you already have alerted. I am open to hearing your preferences if you have one.


	24. Pomp and Circumstance

**CH 24: Pomp and Circumstance**

Maura's doctor was markedly less friendly than the doctor with the kind eyes had been. Jane refused to sleep. The nursing team had come in after the boiling emotions from Hoyt's attack had subsided, they had helped Maura back to bed and treated Jane's neck wound. Everyone seemed to know the futility of separating them at that point. An extra bed was brought in but Jane refused to use it, crawling into the small single-sized bed with Maura instead. After a fair amount of bickering, they had finally let her be.

Korsak hadn't yet returned and with each passing minute the guilt became more and more overwhelming. She had left her brother after he saved her. The doctor had made the sign that Haymitch had used in the arena, but she didn't know what it meant in this instance. Haymitch had called it a sign of respect. She didn't want a sign of respect; she wanted him to save Tommy.

Maura finally dozed off with Jane's arms wrapped tightly around her, one hand caressing through her hair and over her cheek as she kissed her and whispered reassurances of safety that even she had a hard time believing. Even with Patrick Doyle sitting bedside, she couldn't bring herself to close her eyes. The fear of what would happen if she did was too great. Dreams were only part of it, seeing Hoyt's face, or Tommy bleeding out against the milk white floor. A greater fear even than the dreams was that she would wake to find that they had taken her away from Maura. After everything they had been through, that was the most terrifying thought of all.

"There's nothing you could have done to help him," Doyle said, sensing her struggle.

"I shouldn't have let you take me…" Jane closed her eyes, the image of him lying on the floor still so sharp in her memory. "…I should have stayed with him. Held his hand like he held mine the past three days."

"You should try and get some sleep."

Jane shook her head, her embrace tightening to the point that she was almost laying half on top of Maura. "They take. That's what they do. They take and they take. They broke me. They destroyed my family. They killed my brothers. They'll take her too if I let them. I won't. They can't have her. She's the only thing that keeps me breathing."

Doyle stood and moved his chair closer to the bed, "You're not broken, Jane Rizzoli. I've seen broken people. I've been the one to break them." He took her hand and covered it with his own. A gesture Jane hadn't expected from a man so notoriously brutal by reputation and just a second earlier, by his own admission. "I've never met anyone in my life less able to be broken than you. You have weathered every storm that has ever been cast your way with a fight and a spirit that is almost superhuman. You turned the Hunger Games on their head. You've put something in motion. I've heard whispers…dissent in the districts." His voice lowered as he spoke. "The Capitol's own citizens took to the streets and cried for mercy on your behalf. A broken person can't inspire that kind of reaction. The only person that can break Jane Rizzoli, is Jane Rizzoli, and only then by giving up."

He leaned in even closer until he could whisper in her ear. "You will be the catalyst that brings Hoyt and the Capitol to their knees."

* * *

><p>Sleep had eventually gotten the best of her, dragging her under little by little. With each blink, Maura, the room around her grew smaller, foggier, until…darkness.<p>

_You will be the catalyst that brings Hoyt and the Capitol to their knees._

The city center was teeming with people. A wroth wind swept through slapping frivolous, pointless hats from heads and yanking the ends of scarves until a rainbow wave of garments rippled through the crowd and rolled like tumbleweeds across the barren concrete under the Presidential balcony.

Jane looked out at them. They all seemed to be staring at her. In unison they all brought three fingers to their lips and held them out to her. She glanced over her shoulder as two Peacekeepers marched President Hoyt out and tied him to a pole. It was then she noticed the scalpel in her hand. She held it up, watched it shimmer in the solitary stream of sunlight that peeked out from behind the brewing clouds overhead. Their hands stayed aloft. _It's more than a sign of respect_, she told herself. _It's a symbol of solidarity_.

Hoyt laughed as she approached him with his own weapon in her grasp. _There are no winners, no losers. There are no victors. There is only me._

_That doesn't make sense_, Jane replied, eyes darting to the left as Maura appeared and stood at Hoyt's side.

His lips twisted, his tight skin crinkling into the terrifying, plastic smile that always haunted her, _Oh, but it does. I own you, Jane. I own your body; I own your mind. You can't even love her without reference to me._

_Shut up!_ She screamed, her grip tightening around the steel instrument in her palm.

_Tell me_, he rasped, _when you made love to her the first time…did you think of me?_

_I win!_ Jane yelled, plunging the scalpel into his heart.

_Never_, Hoyt shook his head, blood seeping out of his chest and covering her hand. _You can't kill a memory._

Jane looked over as Maura fell to her knees, blood drenching the clothes over her heart as it fanned out and dribbled to the ground. _No!_ _Maura!_

"Maura," she muttered as she came to, a slight jostle drawing her out of slumber. When she opened her eyes she could see a nurse pulling Maura's gown up and reaching under it. Jane's hand flew out and caught the unsuspecting woman by the wrist. "Don't you touch her!"

"Jane," Korsak appeared and pried her hand off the nurse. "It's ok. They're still treating her injury."

She looked down and pushed the gown out of the way. Her hand stroked softly across the skin around the almost healed wound. One more regeneration treatment and it would be completely knitted back together, no evidence of the mark that nearly cost them both their lives. "If she would have died from this…I would have given up."

Korsak moved to the other side of the bed so the nurse could begin the treatment, "She didn't die. Neither of you did."

Jane let him take her hand. "Tommy?"

He squeezed, "I couldn't find him. Nor your doctor. The nurses would only tell me…" he paused, hesitant to say the words, "…that Hoyt commanded the Avox be left to die."

"I know," Jane whispered. "I heard him."

The chair between the two beds sat vacant. Jane's brow furrowed as she looked around the room. "Where's Doyle?"

Silence.

Jane turned to look up at him. "Korsak?"

"Capitol Peacekeepers came for him. About an hour ago."

* * *

><p>Maura awoke, expecting to feel Jane next to her, all around her. In a haze her hand lifted and felt through the air in the space that she remembered being occupied before she fell asleep the last time. Nothing. "Jane!" She sat up with a start.<p>

The outcry startled Jane awake from her own slumber, they looked at each other and realized that they had been placed in the separate beds. At the foot of each sat an outfit, a remake of what they had worn into the arena.

"We can go now," Jane said, reaching for the clothes. She flinched as Maura kicked hers to the floor.

"I'm not putting those back on," Maura said defiantly.

_I'll go naked._ Jane remembered saying the words aloud seventeen years ago. She'd draped the bed sheet over herself and stood in front of the door but it wouldn't open. It wouldn't open until she put on the uniform. She dressed herself first and then scooped up Maura's clothes from the floor. "It's not for long, they'll have us changed and made up for the ceremony. Just like before."

Maura shivered. The sight of the clothes repulsed her. They were new, clean, but as hard as she tried she couldn't see anything but tattered, blood-stained shreds of fabric.

Forcefully, Jane began to dress her. "They won't let us leave until you put them on. We can't go home…"

_Home_. Maura's eyes flashed up to meet hers. "Home…" she whispered. "Jane, are they really going to let us go home?"

Cupping her cheek, Jane forced a smile, "They have to." What she couldn't say with any certainty was what kind of home they would find when they got there. Tommy was probably dead…again. Doyle had been taken. Hoyt always named his price and she hadn't paid it this time. She thought about Korsak and Haymitch. How their families had been taken from their districts to punish them for their victory. Would her Ma still be in District 8 when they got there? Would Maura's parents?

* * *

><p>Arrival from the arena had been by hovercraft, on the roof. But, as they made their way out of the hospital they found that they had ended up far under ground, even farther underground than the gym portion of the Training Center. Soon, they were in the familiar elevator of the lobby, riding up to the eighth floor. Maura stared at the numbers as they passed…1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Each one represented two dead tributes. Two that had gone into the arena and never come out. She'd had a direct hand in two of those deaths. It was her poison darts that killed Star, and her hand that had thrust the dagger through Casey Jones' neck. There was more blood on her hands though. Frost, Haymitch, even Giovanni. To varying degrees they had all sacrificed themselves so that she and Jane could live. Perhaps their blood, most of all, she would never be able to wash away. Maura laced her fingers with Jane's and squeezed tightly.<p>

The sight of Effie nearly in tears as they stepped into the suite was almost surreal. "You're pearls! I told everyone you were pearls!" She prattled on as she swept them both into a hug.

Maura made no attempt to hide her actions as she wriggled out of Effie's grasp and pushed her away.

It was like watching herself, seventeen years earlier. Jane reached for her hand again and pulled Maura back to her side. "It's ok," she whispered.

"I just…" Maura closed her eyes and shook her head. "I just don't want anyone to touch me." Her eyes fell to their interlocked hands. "Except for you."

"I know," Jane commiserated. When she looked forward Cinna was standing there. She walked voluntarily into his embrace. He didn't say anything, only held her for a second before letting his arms fall away.

Obligatory pleasantries exchanged, Maura wrapped her arms around Jane's waist. "Can we be alone now?"

Cinna began to speak but Effie cut him off, "We're on a tight schedule. A very tight schedule." It sounded like the old Effie at first, but then she stopped, her face taking on a look of sympathy neither Jane nor Maura would have guessed she could conjure. "They…wanted your reunion to be live…on the telecast. I argued, told them to keep you together in the hospital. They wouldn't relent, but you found your way together anyway. Oh, dears! And now, they're giving us very little leeway as to the ceremony. There really is very little time."

The prep team ushered them into the dining room where the table was set. But, unlike before there was no bountiful buffet of never ending dishes and delicacies. Rather, an Avox brought out plates of strictly controlled portions and set them down in front of the victors.

Jane didn't realize how hungry she was until the fragrant tendrils of steam carried the smell of roast beef and gravy with stewed vegetables up to her nose. It occurred to her then, it had been days since she had eaten, and even then it was only a portion of their meager foragings from the arena. She began to eat, glancing sideways to glimpse Maura having a standoff with her plate. A profound sense of déjà vu settled over her as she recalled their first meal on the train to the Capitol. "Eat," Jane instructed coldly.

"I can't," Maura protested, "I'm not hungry."

"Liar." Jane wiped her mouth and turned to face her. "I'm starving and so are you." Maura continued to stare at the plate as if it was the vilest abomination she had ever seen, a red rash creeping up her neck. "I don't have the energy to fight with you, Maura! Eat the damn food!" She yelled and brought the room to a stand still.

Tears welled up in Maura's eyes as she looked at her. Jane brought both hands to her mouth and covered it in horror. Her eyes flashed to Korsak and again Maura was her seventeen years ago and she was him. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" she whispered, shaking hands reaching out with trepidation for Maura's face. "Please, I'm so sorry," tears began to stain her own cheeks as she watched the clear tributaries carve down Maura's face as well.

Korsak herded everyone out of the room and suddenly they were alone. With forgiveness, Maura moved into Jane's touch, climbing into her lap and curling into a ball as she buried her face in Jane's neck. "I just want them to let us go," she whispered. "I don't want their clothes. I don't want their food. I don't want to be their entertainment anymore."

"I know," Jane's voice quaked as she spoke. Of all the people in that suite, no one but Korsak knew better than her. There was a lesson she had learned seventeen years ago. A painful one, a tough one: there was a time to fight and a time for defiance and then there was a time to give the Capitol what they wanted.

With a deep breath, Jane spoke. "I know when you've been fighting so hard and for so long that it's hard to stop. I know that the Games make you want to look at everyone as if they're an enemy…even flighty old hummingbirds like Effie Trinket, who probably couldn't swat a fly if it landed on her dinner plate. I know what it's like to look into another human being's eyes and question if there's any way you can completely trust them. I didn't even trust Korsak at first when they released me after I won the first time. I know everything you're feeling right now, Maura. And I need you not to become the person I did after the Games seventeen years ago. I'm going to ask you a question and I need you to be brutally honest."

"Ok…" Maura whispered, letting Jane push her out of her arms until they were looking one another in the eye.

"Do you trust me, absolutely and without question?" Jane reached for the hair in Maura's face and brushed it back as she waited.

In the brown, almost black eyes that stared back at her Maura saw flashes of fire. In her ears she heard the deep rumbling boom of explosions. And in her memory Korsak whispered: _Protecting you matters more to her than her own safety and suffering._ "Yes," Maura answered, "absolutely, and without question."

Jane smiled, "Then listen to me when I tell you that for now we have to stop fighting the Capitol. It doesn't mean we've given up. It's the part they never tell you as a child. The Hunger Games aren't once a year; they're all the time. There's a time to fight and a time to play…to play them against themselves. For now, we stop fighting."

"For now?" Maura asked as she leaned closer.

Jane nodded and pressed their lips together. "For now," she repeated, "But when the time is right," she continued to whisper, their lips brushing each other as she spoke. "We're going to burn this place to the ground."

* * *

><p>The inane chatter of Flavius, Venia, and Octavia disappeared into the background as Jane stripped naked and took a look in a full-length mirror for the first time. The doctors had given her a full body polish in the hospital, removed every burn, every scar, every weathered patch from too much sun exposure. Her skin glowed and felt like silk, just as it had when the prep team was done with her at the Remake Center before the Games even started. But, none of that could put meat back on her bones. She had wasted away, and only looking at her reflection for the first time did she see just how badly.<p>

"It's even worse than before." She ran her fingers along a protruding collarbone and down the prominent ripples of bone across her chest. The condition of her body reminded her just how close to death she had been.

"Because you gave me most of your food." Maura's back was to her, arms crossed over her breasts as the prep team fluttered about. The whipping scars looked even more ghastly across her back as they stretched across jutting scapulas and licked across knots that marked every vertebrae all the way down her spine.

Jane ran her hand down Maura's marred back, prompting her to turn.

"They're still there?" Maura asked.

Jane nodded. "There was quite a fight over it though," Cinna interjected. "They wanted to erase them. Korsak and I…we didn't think you'd want that."

"Thank you," Maura managed a smile. Jane's hand started at her cheek and caressed lightly down her neck and into the sunken spaces between the bones of her shoulder and chest. As her hand traveled lower Maura dropped her arms, allowing Jane's touch to stroke between her breasts and then over her painfully visible ribs down to the sharp edge of her hipbone.

Pulling Maura into her arms, Jane kissed her temple. "When we get home…Ma will cook a big feast. Fresh baked bread, pasta, dumplings, meatballs…everything. We can eat until we're sick," Jane let a little laugh out as she reached up to wipe a tear from her eye. "And then we'll eat some more."

"Can we…" Maura paused, almost embarrassed at how trivial it was. "Can we have some fudge clusters from Darla Flannery's bakery?"

Jane nudged Maura back and gently swiped her thumbs across Maura's cheeks, "Anything you want. As many as you want."

Cinna quietly and unassumingly insinuated himself into their space, gently tapping Jane's ankle until she lifted her foot, a light brush of her arm to coax it away from Maura, just long enough to slip her into her undergarments. Then, he held out a dress.

Skeptically arching an eyebrow, Jane gave the garment a displeased once over, "It's pink."

"Technically," Maura held one finger in the air, "It's mauve." She noted Jane's disapproval but added, "Which, is of course often mistaken as a shade of pink. In reality it is more appropriately a lavender-lilac in the range of purples. Though, some hues, such as this one do appear to have a slight reddish undertone prompting the tendency to associate it with pink."

"Maura…" Jane scowled, rebuffing her lover's impromptu lesson on the finer points of the color wheel.

"Sorry," Maura replied meekly, "It's just…I think it's…" Her face and chest flushed as she realized what she was about to say. _I think it's very beautiful._ In an instant she hated herself for even thinking it. It was a Capitol dress. Designed in the Capitol, sewn in the Capitol, and the Capitol would have Jane clothed in it while they made her relive the Games for their pleasure.

Resigned, Jane lifted her arms as Cinna slipped the airy fabric over her and shimmied it down her body. "It's…very different from the blue interview suit before the Games. I liked that one," Jane lamented. "I felt…confident in it. It made me look strong."

Stepping in close behind her, Cinna began to tweak the garment and then fix her hair. "Yes, it did."

"And this…" Jane sighed as she ran her hands over the fitted bodice and down the sheer fabric of the skirt.

"Makes you look like a woman." Cinna looked straight ahead into the mirror and caught her gaze, "Delicate." She flinched when he said it. "Vulnerable." Her mouth fell open as she wanted to protest. He turned his head to whisper in her ear, "Non-threatening."

It was all a game. Everything. She had just told Maura that and yet she had failed to truly recognize the scope of her own words. It was. All. A game. Cinna was playing it too. But, not for his own benefit. For hers. For Maura's. Jane thought back to those harrowing moments in the hospital when Hoyt was leaning over her, his breath foul and hot in her face: _You put on quite a show. And everyone fell for it. Everyone. Everyone…but me._

Jane directed her attention to Maura who was reluctantly allowing Portia to dress her in a gown of the same color but a different cut. There was something going on, something bigger than she could possibly imagine. Gabriel Dean had saved them. _Why?_ Death and the orchestration of it was his job. She hadn't thought to ask. _Why? _Doyle had said the Capitol's own citizens had cried out for mercy. _The citizens_. Jane's eyes widened. _Is it possible?_ She reached out and waited for Maura to take her hand, squeezing it tightly. _Is the Capitol already burning?_

* * *

><p>An air of confusion was mildly apparent as they proceeded to the interview. It was unnoticeable to the first-timers but to those who had made it this far before, Jane and Korsak, the stress of the unexpected conclusion to the Games was wreaking havoc on the usually meticulously planned spectacle. The logistics of the victor interview would have been planned from the beginning of the Games themselves, especially the significance of it being a Quell. The annual format had the prep team, escort, stylist, mentor, and finally the victor rise on a pedestal from beneath the stage. However, this time there were two victors: two victors who weren't supposed to have seen each other.<p>

Effie, Cinna, and Portia finally parted from them, leaving Jane, Maura, and Korsak in the dimly lit holding area beneath the stage.

Jane tried to smile. This marked the third time Korsak had found himself at the victor's interview, once as the victor himself and now twice as a mentor. Most importantly, it was one more step on their way home. But, Korsak didn't smile back.

"What's wrong?" Jane asked, her grip on Maura's hand growing tighter as the air around them seemed to grow heavy with urgency.

"This is the first chance I've really had to talk to you two alone. I have a lot to say and not much time to say it." He was talking fast. So fast, Jane worried she wouldn't keep up, that the massive word vomit would just puddle at her feet and the necessity of her understanding what he said would be lost.

Whereas Jane's first reaction was elation at the opportunity that her challenge of the Games might bring, it was Maura that immediately grasped the true nature of Korsak's desperation. "We're in danger," she said, half statement, half question. "We're in danger because we both lived."

Korsak pulled them in close, one hand holding firmly to each of their shoulders. "You have no idea what transpired in those final moments in the arena. The entire Capitol spilled into the streets chanting: _let them live!_ And…when they thought you were really about to kill yourselves…every single one of them fell deathly silent, brought three fingers to their lips and held their hands out to the projection of you on the screens around the square."

"But, that was Haymitch's sign," Jane tried to rationalize.

"He used it to salute you! They were saluting you. Both of you. It's yours now. It's a sign of solidarity with you. And not just here. Before they took him away, Doyle said he heard reports of crowds across the districts saluting you before Dean intervened." Korsak stared at her, waiting to see if his words took effect.

"We made the Capitol look weak and incompetent," Jane realized.

"No," Maura corrected, "We made Hoyt look weak and incompetent."

"For all intents and purposes," Korsak said, "Hoyt is the Capitol. The people want their show and he has to give it to them. For now."

"But after," Jane looked at Maura and pulled her closer, resting her forehead against the other woman's as she trailed her fingers along suddenly blood-drained skin. "Remember what I said earlier?"

Maura nodded, "There's a time to fight and a time to play their own game against them."

Wrapping Maura in her arms, Jane looked at Korsak, "He thinks he knows me. He knows who I was seventeen years ago. He knows the person I was in that arena; the person I had to be again to get Maura home. I'm so much more than that recklessly defiant little girl now." She tipped Maura's head up and found her strength and determination in eyes that stared back and simmered with the same resolve. "These are _**our **_Games now."

"Tonight," Maura looked at Korsak, "What do we have to do?"

"First off, convince the citizens and Caesar Flickerman that you haven't seen each other. Second, at all costs…" he looked directly at Jane as he spoke, "…do not come across as a hero. The districts would have you be their Mockingjay, their symbol of justice and perseverance in the face of cruelty and exploitation. You cannot sing that song. If the fires of rebellion are stoked, Hoyt will come for you. He'll lay waste to everything you hold dear and when he's done with that…"

"You don't have to tell me, Korsak. I know." The thought of it made the scars on her palms ache. Jane looked past her friend and mentor as some of the telecast attendants appeared to usher them into their places. She placed one last, quick kiss on Maura's lips, being mindful not to mar Portia and Cinna's painstaking work on their makeup. "I swore I would do whatever it took to get you home…"

"And I've made it perfectly clear that my home is any space where you are by my side," Maura pulled Jane's hands to her chest and squeezed them until she feared she might actually draw blood. "We are in this together. We always have been. You were alone for so long, but you're not anymore. These are our Games. This is our fight. Hoyt doesn't know the woman you've become, and he has no idea what I'm capable of. What I'll do to protect you. I'll go every bit as far for you as you would go for me."

"I know," Jane choked, taking a deep breath as she fought back the tears. "Aren't we a pair?"

Korsak watched the attendants separate them onto pedestals that would rise on opposite ends of the stage; ostensibly some sort of divider would block their view as they appeared to the audience and the people across Panem watching the broadcast. Nervously, he fidgeted with his tie for a moment before leaving to take his own place. It was hard to explain to anyone who hadn't been through it, but this was the part he dreaded. The trials of the arena were so simple compared to this. Kill or be killed. Straightforward. Hand to hand combat, outwit your opponents and overpower them. The options were limited. What Hoyt had at his disposal in the aftermath was virtually limitless. This was what the Capitol refused to tell them and what no mentor had the heart to: it was in victory that the most dangerous part of the Hunger Games began.


	25. Head Games

**CH 25: Head Games**

Patrick Doyle sputtered blood, expelling it onto the crimson-smeared silver table in front of him. The blood was coming from everywhere as far as he could tell: his lip was definitely split, probably in more than one place, broken nose, and his entire face felt wet and hot and itched as slow moving tributaries of half-congealed and new blood swept down it like a red river. He ran his tongue back and forth in his mouth; pleased that he seemed to still have all of his teeth…at least that was something.

Peacekeeper Darren Crowe wiped his fist with a wet towel and took a seat across from him.

"You always had a mean right hook, Crowe," Doyle chuckled. "Never had a better sparring partner."

Crowe smiled, "Plenty of sparring partners here in the Capitol hit just as hard if not harder than you ever did. None of them are half as cunning though. Makes for mostly boring fights."

"You must have been holding back on your cunning in 8," Doyle popped his neck from side to side, "After all, look at you now…transfer to the Capitol and I'm…" he jingled the cuffs on his wrists that were shackled behind his back. "Well…I guess I've had better days."

"That's why you stopped me from whipping her…all those years ago."

Doyle looked at his former colleague. Darren Crowe's brow glistened with sweat from the exertion of the beating he had just dealt; his crisp, white uniform was smeared with the red reminder of his duty. It wasn't a question that needed an answer. Doyle let another mouthful of blood collect and then spat it on the floor. They were going to kill him anyway; he didn't owe them an explanation, especially not an explanation for the painfully obvious.

Another Peacekeeper entered, Doyle didn't bother to look up, keeping his eyes locked with Crowe's instead, trying to glean some kind of sentiment from the man's stony exterior. But, that was Crowe. He was what he had been trained to be. When it came time, if they gave him a last request, he decided he would ask for Peacekeeper Crowe to carry it out since Martell had been sent back to District 8. He preferred to die at the hands of someone he knew.

* * *

><p>Maura could hear the anthem playing in the studio above, the end drowned out by the raucous cheer of the audience that boomed when Caesar Flickerman took the stage and greeted them. Caesar's words were overtaken at the end of his introduction as the crowd roared to the entrance of the prep team. It was almost impossible to believe that they could get any louder but when Caesar introduced Korsak, one of their revered victors and now twice the mentor of victors, their cheers, clapping, and stomping seemed to shake the whole building above.<p>

Watching from home all those years, Maura had always imagined that the presentation of the victor must be such a wonderful and relieving event for the mentors. Their tribute had won. They would be bringing a child home to their family, to their district. Through all of the tragedy and the loss there was at least that one bright spot. But, now she knew, that bright spot was tarnished with the knowledge of what awaited…or in some instances, what had already happened.

It all made sense now…the wardrobe. Though, Cinna need not have dressed them so femininely to make them seem less a threat or weak. They very well could have walked out naked, still gaunt and starved with protruding bones. There was nothing strong about the way they looked in the dressing room mirror not too long ago. She ran her hand over the front of the dress. _Poor Cinna_, Maura thought. He had to walk a thin line the same as the rest of them. Everything within his power he had done before the Games to present an image that would rally the Capitol around them and make them appear as formidable foes to the other tributes. Now, he had to tear that all apart, rip the pedestal out from under them, and humanize them from heroism. In the end, he, Portia, all of them, were probably in just as much danger as she and Jane. Though, poor Flavius, Venia, and Octavia were too stupid to realize it.

Her breath caught in her throat as the lift below her began to rise. Suddenly, Korsak's warning and entreating of them to make it convincing seemed completely unnecessary. Maura brought her hand to her chest, feeling lightheaded from the rapid thumping of her heart. It was as if she really had not seen Jane before now.

As the lift came to a stop, there was a divider blocking her view. Maura looked out at the audience for a moment, though the blinding studio lights kept her from seeing them their cheers and whistles were deafening. Then, the divider was lowered and across the stage stood Jane. The tears that came streaking down her face weren't falsely conjured. Every second away from Jane struck a sincere chord of fear that their previous time together had been the last. This time, no less than in the hospital when Patrick Doyle had brought Jane to her, truly seemed like the first time she had seen her since the arena. Her feet wouldn't move, her body knew that one step would bring her to her knees. She didn't need to move though. In a flash Jane had cleared the stage and gathered her in her arms, holding her, burying her face in Maura's neck.

"It's ok," Jane whispered, sniffling back her own tears, "I'm here." She lowered Maura back to the ground and cupped her face, wiping the tear trails away with her fingers before they kissed. Caesar's voice filled the background, but Jane didn't hear a specific word of what he said as the kiss consumed them both.

After several minutes, much to the audience's delight, Caesar tapped them on the shoulder. Begrudgingly, Jane pulled her lips from Maura's but didn't release her protective embrace, still holding Maura tightly to her they made their way to the victor's chair: what was normally a single ostentatious chair of almost throne-like appearance, had instead been replaced by the Gamemakers with an inviting black velvet loveseat. _How appropriate_, Jane thought as they sat.

As Caesar interacted jovially with the crowd, Maura curled even tighter into Jane's side, her arms wrapping around Jane's waist as Jane placed a protective arm around her shoulders and lightly stroked her. "I don't want to see this," Maura whispered in Jane's ear as the lights dimmed and the seal of the Capitol appeared on the screen. She saw this every time she closed her eyes to sleep: the deaths of the other tributes in the arena. And now, for three hours, they would be forced to endure a highlights reel of sorts. She knew she couldn't run, but the mere thought of having to watch it, with the actual emotional wounds still so raw and unhealed, as if they ever would heal, left her on the verge of vomiting.

"I know," Jane muttered as she placed a kiss on Maura's forehead. "Before, I…stared in the direction of the screen, not at it. Watch without seeing. Think about what it will be like to go home; think about how we're going to arrange our new apartment, how we're going to spend the rest of our lives together. Think about anything except what's about to be on that screen."

The beginning of the show focused on the pre-arena proceedings but soon enough the events of the arena began to unfold before them; except, unlike in previous years there was a story that underlay the highlights. A love story. A story of intended self-sacrifice and ultimately survival against all odds. Jane was surprised the Gamemakers played it up as much as they did, that Hoyt would let them air the story that had purportedly ignited dissent in the districts.

Maura tried desperately to do as Jane said: to watch without seeing. But, no matter how hard she tried, even if she closed her eyes, she could still hear it. When the replay of Silas stabbing her filled the giant screen it felt as if the dagger had entered her once again. Maura flinched and reached for her side but was instantly comforted by Jane much to the cooing _awws_ of the audience. On the one hand the show filled in certain questions: how the Careers had booby-trapped the supplies, how Giovanni came to possess the map, and how poor, young Madge had died. She had to listen to Rondo sing as Blight cut him down and worst of all, watch as Ian dealt the fatal blow that killed Barry Frost as he and Jane fought for the medicine that saved her life.

"I can't…" Maura choked, closing her eyes and burying her face in Jane's neck when Haymitch appeared on the screen, and gathered a dying Star into his arms.

So, Jane watched for them both, because she owed it to him. It was then she saw him make the sign in the direction Maura had run; the sign Korsak said even the people in the Capitol offered up to honor them when they thought they were about to die. Finally, they arrived at the end and they both watched the confusing events unfold, because they had counted: _one…two…thr_...and then the world had gone deaf and black around them.

With the screen fading to the seal and the studio lights slowly rising, three hours had passed, and Jane knew: now the true test of will would come. As the anthem began to play, Jane pulled Maura close, kissing her cheek as she moved her mouth to her ear. "Hoyt will crown us now. You have to…smile."

The thought was vile and rotten; she couldn't even imagine how Jane would be able to stand there in his presence…how she had been able to stand in his presence seventeen years ago.

_Play their game_. Maura laced her fingers tightly with Jane's and squeezed. Everything they had done, everything they would do was in service to one goal and one goal only: going home. President Hoyt took the stage followed by a little girl holding a crown on a fringed velvet pillow. The crowd began to mutter in confusion at the sight of only the one ornament. But, as he lifted it, he gave it a twist and separated it into two halves.

He crowned Maura first, placing the crown gently on her head. She thought for sure all of Panem could see her trembling. When he reached for her shoulders and began to pull her forward an icy stillness streaked from his touch through her body, for a moment, she could swear her heart stopped beating. His rough lips touched one cheek and then the other before whispering, "So nice of your father to come to your bedside."

Jane took a deep breath as he stepped in front of her. Seventeen years ago she had tried to calculate if there would be enough time to reach out and choke him to death before a Peacekeeper made it to the stage to intervene. As he had walked towards her she wasn't sure she could continue to live so long as he did, not with what his Games had done to her, not with what he had physically done to her, not with the knowledge of what he would do to someone else. But, in her mind there had been Korsak's voice: _think about home, your Ma and Pop, Tommy…what will Frankie do without you?_ She froze that time, almost emotionless as he placed the crown on her head, looking past him, focusing on a woman in the audience with a gaudy orange hat that was almost neon under the glare of the studio's fluorescent lighting.

This time, she looked him right in the eyes as he faced her and stooped so he could place the crown on her head without reaching. Her peripheral vision caught a microphone descending from the scaffolding above as if some grip knew she wanted to say something. Jane smiled and as she stood straight extended her hand to him, "It's an honor to be your victor a second time…sir."

By the look on his face she knew she had caught him off guard, even if only for a moment, the look of shock was gratifying. However, Hoyt recovered quickly and his insidious smirk of a smile again graced his visage. "Jane…" The way her name dripped off his tongue always sent a shiver down her spine. "As always, the pleasure is mine."

* * *

><p>Patrick Doyle never forgot a face. As a Peacekeeper it was paramount to his job. As a child they had called him gifted, said he had something closely approximating an eidetic memory. They loved their little tests in the Capitol, as if those I.Q. assessments meant anything in the long run. His mother had been convinced he would achieve greatness, whatever that meant for a boy in a sea of other boys all backed by privilege and wealth. When it came down to it, he was great…great at running rackets and scams, cheating and swindling, and when push came to shove fighting…and as the passage of time would reveal: killing.<p>

The important thing, however, was that Patrick Doyle never forgot a face. So, the shock was evident in his eyes when Peacekeeper Richard Byrd excused Crowe from the room and took his seat.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Byrd said with a smile.

"I suppose I am," Doyle slurred, his split and swollen lips making it increasingly difficult to talk. "Because you look like Ricky Byrd…only…not nearly as old as you should be."

"Well," the Peacekeeper chuckled, running a hand through his still thick, chestnut hair, "they have procedures here in the Capitol to help with that. How long has it been Paddy?"

"Long time," Doyle answered. "After training they sent me to 8 and you to 6. I guess the decades in between don't really matter, it's pretty obvious where we both ended up."

"We could have both been here, you know." Ricky sighed. He and his friend, they had made plans. They had no choice to become Peacekeepers. Reckless children had turned into even more reckless and defiant teenagers and the Capitol wasn't known for being forgiving of criminals, not even those still shrouded in the veil of youth. The choice was no choice at all: prison, slavery, or commit to the Capitol as a Peacekeeper where insolence would earn you death but service earned you the most freedom of the options presented. "That was the plan. Do our time out in the backwater and then angle for promotion and transfers back here."

"I wouldn't change anything that I did." The words were laden with a growing impatience. _Just do it. Just do it already._

Ricky smiled and nodded, "Of course you wouldn't. That's always been you, though. Unapologetic. I still remember when they hauled us in before the judge. It was the first time I was ever really afraid. Strange isn't it? Never before when we were hustling and flouting the law, never when the real danger was, when we could have been jumped by rivals or flayed by Peacekeepers. But, you just stood there, head held high, chest puffed out like you didn't give a damn. You know why I was never afraid before? Because; I had my friend Paddy by my side on those streets. You know what else you are, Patrick Doyle? You're loyal to those you love and respect. You saved my ass a thousand times when we were kids; you never cut and run when you could have, when it could have just been me standing in the Justice Building and you safely back at home. It seems you've always lived by that code. All these years and I never forgot that. It's the single greatest thing anyone has ever taught me: loyalty always returns dividends."

Doyle shifted wordlessly in his seat. The adrenaline from the beating was wearing off and he could feel the pain and stiffness settling into his bones. It was a stark reminder that he wasn't the rebellious youth his old friend remembered. It was an even starker reminder that soon there would be no feeling at all.

Ricky produced a file and laid it on the table. "You know what we were charged with doing."

"President Hoyt has commanded you to execute me," Doyle regarded the man in front of him, so familiar, yet, they had now spent more of their lives apart than they had ever spent as friends. For all Ricky's talk of loyalty and its returns, Doyle knew that meant the papers in front of him must be his death warrant and that Ricky would carry them out because he was loyal…to the Capitol. "Do you know why?"

"Treason," Ricky replied without pause. "The specifics? Classified. Way above my pay grade." It was a half-truth. When Jane game Maura the ring in the arena, everyone had heard her say the name Patrick before trailing off, and Crowe had been able to assist in filling in the rest. "And yes, President Hoyt commanded you be executed. That is of course the typical punishment for crimes against the state. However…it's a funny thing…did you know when a Capitol citizen is taken as a plea bargain recruit to the Peacekeepers they lock his citizenship records? Only certain administrative levels have access. The other funny thing is the Capitol likes to pretend it's much more evolved and humane than it really is; there is a strict distaste for using capital punishment on Capitol citizens. Somehow…your file found itself unlocked. And somehow…it worked its way up the chain command, all the way to the Head Justice and the President. President Hoyt, in his infinite mercy, generosity, and overwhelming compassion for you situation," Ricky stopped, sarcasm spilling out with each word. "Has approved the following offer: You will sign this declaration of treason against the state and as punishment you will live…as an Avox, duty assignment to be determined."

Doyle's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched despite the discomfort of the strain, he leaned as far forward as possible, blood dripping from his brow to the papers on the table. "I'd rather die."

* * *

><p>There was no rest for the weary, no being spared the exploitive pageantry of their victory. They had been bet on the same as if they were racehorses and now they were groomed and decorated with laurels and paraded around for what seemed a never ending spectacle.<p>

The Victory Banquet immediately followed the crowning. In between Capitol officials and sponsors jockeying to take pictures with them, Jane kept her eyes trained on Hoyt, being sure to gently guide Maura to the farthest point in the great hall from their tormentor as possible. Korsak wove deftly through the crowd, always finding himself halfway between Jane and Maura's position and Hoyt's. The whole performance was even more repugnant to him this time than before. Before, he had promised her they would get through the night and the interview the following day and then they would go home and she would never have to see Hoyt again. The Quell had made a liar of him. Worse than Jane being reaped a second time was her winning and being forced to endure the sham again, forced to be in the same room, smile, and shake the hand of the man who had made it his pleasure to destroy her life, to see how far she could bend before breaking. And no one else in that room knew. And there was nothing he could do about it.

By the time they arrived back at their suite from the Banquet, the dark of night had shifted without warning into a gentle dawn.

Maura clawed at her dress as they made their way to the bedroom for what little sleep they could garner before their final interview with Caesar. She pulled the garment from her body as if the touch of it burned her skin and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. Jane watched as Maura crawled naked into the bed and curled into a ball. She had thought maybe the immediate post-Games trauma would be different for Maura than it had been for her. The first time she had to endure it alone. This time, they had each other. Yet, she could see the battle raging inside her lover and deep down she knew that she was powerless to do anything but just be there and weather the storm.

She shed her own dress and gingerly settled into bed next to Maura. With each inhale, Maura's ribs expanded and stretched her skin even tighter over already visible bones. Jane reached out to caress down her arm but Maura flinched and shrugged her touch away.

"Don't," Maura muttered, reaching for the sheet and pulling it farther over herself.

"Ok," Jane whispered, too emotionally drained herself to tackle the wall Maura was building. She rolled over, closed her eyes, and prayed for a deep and dreamless sleep.

The faintest touch woke her, a hand sliding tentatively over her hip and around her midsection. Light breaths whispered through her hair and the presence of another body warmed her back.

"I should have let him kill you," Maura said. "And then I should have let him kill me."

Jane clasped Maura's hand tightly to her chest and closed her eyes.

"It would have been easier."

"You don't mean that," Jane argued.

"I do."

Pulling out from under the embrace Jane rose, and with little regard for her state of undress padded to the dining room and retrieved a carving knife. Maura sat up and Jane knelt on the bed in front of her. "It's not too late. We can throw in the towel, right here, right now. You don't want to go on. Fine. But the same rules apply. I'm not going on without you." She pressed the tip of the blade to the thin blue line that ran under the skin of her wrist. A bead of crimson swelled and a tiny red rivulet began to spiral down her hand. "Is this what you want?" She started to push deeper and drag the blade.

"No!" Maura reached for her, pushing the knife away and covering the tiny puncture with her hand. "No," she said more softly. "I…I just don't know how to deal with these emotions. It's all so overwhelming and…I feel like I'm unraveling. Here and there another seam pops; I lose a little bit more control. And I'm afraid, Jane. I'm afraid I'll never be myself again."

"I know, Maura," Jane commiserated. "I know. And I can't make you not feel those things. It just is what it is. But, I'm here." She threw the knife to the floor and stroked Maura's face. "I'm here with you and I won't let you lose yourself because of this. I know who you are. And you know who I am. And when the darkness overtakes us, the other will light the way back."

Maura pulled her hand away from Jane's arm and stared at the red smear on her palm. "This is what I see, all the time. No matter how many times I scrub them, I can't wash the blood away."

Jane took the sheet and wiped as much of the blood from Maura's hand as she could. "Do you remember the first night in the arena, when you asked me: _what do we do now_?"

Nodding, Maura replied, "You said: _we survive_."

"And we did. And I refuse to feel guilty about it this time, because I deserved it. We deserved it. We deserve this…being together…waking up tomorrow and every day after side by side. I didn't enjoy what I had to do in the arena, but I refuse to regret it." She pulled Maura into her arms and ran her fingers through her hair and mapped every inch of her skin. "I refuse to regret having the opportunity to hold you like this, to feel your skin against mine."

"We survived," Maura whispered into Jane's neck as she returned Jane's embrace. "Now what?"

Jane kissed her and held her tightly, "Now…we live."


	26. Fairytale

**Notes: **This is the next to last chapter of Tribute!

**CH 26: Fairytale**

"_President Hoyt, in his infinite generosity and overwhelming compassion for your situation," Ricky stopped, sarcasm spilling out with each word. "Has approved the following offer: You will sign this declaration of treason against the state and as punishment you will live…as an Avox, duty assignment to be determined."_

_Doyle's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched despite the discomfort of the strain, he leaned as far forward as possible, blood dripping from his brow to the papers on the table. "I'd rather die."_

Ricky stood and knocked on the interview room door. Crowe reentered with another Peacekeeper as they dragged a bloodied and unconscious man into the room and sat him in a chair at the end of the table. The man had to be held up as he slumped, but Crowe and Byrd both waved their extra colleague away and out the door.

"Do you know how hard it was to find someone with enough resemblance to pass for you?" Ricky asked as he pushed the plea bargain back in Doyle's direction. "Everyone in the Capitol gets work done. Men your age don't look your age you know."

Crowe tilted the man's head up so Doyle could take a look. It was hard to tell anything with most of his face bashed in, nary an inch of skin not stained with blood, and both of his eyes swollen shut. He was balding though, with salt and pepper hair streaked with white. If not for the bubbles of foamy blood that crested on his lips and from his nostrils as he took shallow breaths he was so motionless as to be nearly dead. "I'll have to take your word for it I suppose," Doyle remarked. "What's this about?"

Ricky sighed and rubbed his eyes, "Like I said, loyalty always returns dividends. Consider this my favor to you for all of the favors you did for me back in the day. For standing by my side when you could have run."

Peacekeeper Ricky Byrd had been forced into service, but he'd spent every single one of those years faithful to the job and he'd worked his way up. Now, he was putting it all on the line. Doyle didn't need to ask for any further explanation. They were offering him an out. All he had to do was sign the plea bargain and this nameless, faceless man would pay the penalty for him. "And if I agree…where do I go?" He asked.

"The final interview is in a couple of hours. The tributes will be taken directly to the train to head back to District 8. You'll be on that train with them," Ricky answered, tapping the pen on the blood-streaked form on the table.

Doyle looked at the man again; he couldn't imagine anything worse than being rendered an Avox for the rest of his days. He truly would rather die. "Who is he?"

"A man…who looks enough like you that after we rearranged his face and once his tongue is cut out and his vocal chords paralyzed will fool the Head Justice and President Hoyt if they ever ask for photographic proof of your…condition."

Doyle clenched his jaw, "Who…is…he?"

Ricky rolled his eyes and grunted in exasperation, "Would it make it easier for you if I told you that he's the scum of Panem? A pedophile who molests little boys…scores of them."

"He's not though, is he?" Doyle looked his old friend in the eyes. He had to know.

"Why does it matter!?" Ricky shouted.

"Because, it just does," Doyle pushed the papers away to try and impart just how much.

"He's an underground bookie, runs illegal gambling pools on everything that can be bet on, including the Games. The Capitol Gaming Commission gets quite outdone when they find out they've been cheated of potential profits," Ricky pushed the papers back across the table, but Doyle didn't budge.

"What's his name?"

"For the love, Patrick! You have three options and none of them are great but two of them are total shit! You can die, if that's what you want, or you can sign this paper and nobly 'live' out your days as a mute Avox serving some old Capitol bitty her soup while she curses you and slaps you for the soup being too hot or too cold…or, you sign this paper and with your agreement, someone else lives that life and you go back to District 8 a free man. A free man with a daughter."

"A ghost you mean," Doyle countered.

"A living ghost."

Doyle asked again, "His name?"

"Hollister Carroll," Ricky replied with resignation, "His name is Hollister Carroll."

Doyle picked up the pen and signed the plea, "I needed to know the name of the man I was condemning for my sins."

* * *

><p>Effie barged into their room all a twitter. "Big day! Big, big day!" She chirped. Of everyone she seemed to have recovered the quickest from the shock and awe of the end of the Games. Once that initial surprise wore off she was just as she was before: the quintessential Capitol citizen and escort.<p>

Jane didn't blame her. Just like she didn't blame Flavius, Venia, or Octavia. They were all as much a product of their upbringing to love the Games and couch them in the flowery language of honor and privilege as she and Maura had been brought up to loathe them and see only insidious torture and subjugation. Their escort, the prep team, they were like children really, everything was fun and games and nothing had consequences…for them anyway.

An Avox followed Effie in and carried a tray laden with two bowls of soup. Jane was instantly hungry, though that feeling never quite went away, the smell of the hot, savory liquid painfully exacerbated the ache in her belly. She shook Maura awake in her arms, "We have to start getting ready for the interview."

Effie prattled on about how wonderfully everything had gone so far, how beautiful they had looked at the crowning, how social and well mannered they had been at the Victory Banquet. Jane could feel Maura tensing beside her. She set her soup down and ran her hand through Maura's hair and down her back. Hazel eyes flashed towards her, behind them she could feel the emotions teeming with the urge to breach the last vestiges of self-control. Maura wanted to let it all out: what had happened to Jane seventeen years ago, what Hoyt had tried to do again, Tommy, Doyle, everything. Maybe then Effie Trinket wouldn't be smiling like a clown and giggling like a schoolgirl in anticipation of the final interview.

Jane shook her head, "She won't understand," she whispered, leaning down to place a soft kiss on Maura's shoulder. "None of them will…none of them can."

They had barely finished the meager rations of broth and mixed vegetables before Cinna, Portia, and the prep team entered. The interview was scheduled to take place in the sitting room of their suite, as they were being dressed Jane could hear the commotion from down the hall as a mini-studio was erected. Their clothes were simpler: Cinna had selected a pair of soft, dove grey pants for Jane that tapered down her long legs, narrowing until they snugly hugged her ankles, a wispy sleeveless white tunic and a grey, large weave shrug that couldn't have been softer if she had slipped on a cloud itself. He slid her feet into a pair of blue flats. Next to her, Portia helped Maura into a gauzy blue dress and silver shoes. In a different way than the Opening Ceremony, it all felt very ethereal again. Jane liked how gaunt the clothes made them look; Cinna was still playing them up as weakened.

Jane smiled and held her palm to Maura's cheek, "I love you in that color."

* * *

><p>Vases of lilies adorned with lavender surrounded a loveseat that had been brought in. The sight froze Jane at first, followed by the smell. It reeked of Hoyt, the sickly aroma that emanated off his skin so obviously designed to hide his naturally acrid essence. It was never successful. This was his doing, his choice.<p>

Maura took Jane's hand, "This is it…the last thing," she reminded her lover and led her towards the interview area. Her demeanor was a far cry from hours earlier when she had wished for death to ease the emotional torment. Jane squeezed her hand, deep down, she knew that with time, they would be ok…they would live.

Caesar Flickerman hugged Maura first, squeezing her shoulders as they separated, "Congratulations, Maura. How are you?"

_Congratulations._ The word sickened her. In her mind that single word was the same as: _Congratulations for murdering your way to victory_. She smiled slightly, "Very tired, a little anxious to be honest."

"Oh, don't be!" Caesar smiled wide, his teeth so much whiter against the pale blue lipstick he wore. "We're practically old friends by now. Nothing to be anxious about at all."

"It's just…I wish I knew what you were going to ask." It wasn't entirely an act of feigned innocence. She really did wish she knew what he was going to ask; that she had been able to prepare for the questions, to think before her sometimes unfiltered honesty got the better of her and put them both in danger.

"My dear," he squeezed her hand this time. "It's all about you. Nothing tricky. Nothing you say will be wrong."

Maura thought of Hoyt, ensconced in some velvety, high backed chair in his mansion watching them right now. _If only that were true_, she thought.

Jane's arm around her shoulders helped still her racing heart a tiny bit, but she knew the woman next to her was just as panic-stricken as she was. They were so close, yet everything could still be lost. What scared Maura the most in that moment was that they wouldn't know and could very well live in fear for days, weeks, months, maybe longer waiting to see if Hoyt would seek revenge.

Caesar and Jane of course had met several times before; it was only natural that he started with her. "Jane, twice a tribute, and now twice a victor. It's absolutely remarkable. I must say, and I think everyone watching would agree that you were…different this time. How did you approach the Games this time around as opposed to seventeen years ago?"

It would have been shocking to her if he hadn't asked that question. "Well, Caesar, I grew up for one." Caesar chuckled and nodded in agreement. "As a…" _child_, "teenager, I had a lot of anger and immaturity. I also had a different motivation this time," she looked at Maura, her eyes glistening with tears. "I think that selflessness allowed me to connect with the citizens of Panem in a way that my anger and immaturity didn't allow before."

The questions mostly alternated back and forth between them, when Jane could sense Maura struggling she would interject and vice versa. Additionally, Caesar went out of his way to help them along. It was something Jane knew she could count on. Caesar Flickerman was the consummate showman and whether he knew of their plight he needed the broadcast to succeed.

Eventually though, the questions became more emotionally taxing and Caesar insisted on more fleshed out answers. He looked at Maura and his face grew serious, his almost constant smile fading. "Maura, you perhaps surprised us most of all. As we watched you through the Games I don't think a one of us foresaw how you would be the one to eliminate two of the strongest tributes. Where did that fight come from?"

Maura began to tremble and Jane tightened her arm around her to try and keep her still. Her voice was soft when she spoke, almost a whisper, "It's…very hard to take a life."

"Yes, yes, of course it is," Caesar agreed.

Maura wished he had said nothing. Whether he knew it or not, in her mind, he had taken lives, countless lives. Him and every other person in the Capitol, every year they lived and allowed the games to go on they took twenty-three lives. And it didn't seem so very difficult for them; they didn't seem to care at all. "I…" Maura swallowed hard and looked to Jane. "I couldn't watch her die. I finally understood why she had done everything to keep me alive to that point. I realized I could fathom no greater pain than having to watch her die."

Jane rested her forehead against Maura's temple as she brought her hand to her face and tried to wipe away the tears. She didn't want Panem to see her cry, no matter how good for their case it could be.

"Jane," Caesar's voice was soft, "You and Maura had not professed your feelings for one another prior to the Reaping, if I understand correctly." They both nodded. "Tell me, when did you first know you were in love with her?"

_No. They can't have that._ She stammered as she tried to think of a convincing lie. Panem didn't get to have all of her. "I…It was…"

"Do you know when it was for me?" Caesar interjected. "When you volunteered at the Reaping. And the cameras showed both of your faces and I said to myself, they're in love with one another. They may not know that's what it is, but that is exactly it."

_Thank you, Caesar_. Jane breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, I suppose that's when it was. I knew…I think we both did long before that. For whatever reason we couldn't express it then. But, in that moment, I knew I couldn't live without her."

"It's practically a fairytale!" Caesar gushed. "And so, at the end, when Jane asked you to kill her…" he again turned his solemn attention to Maura.

"I couldn't do it. The one selfish thing she did," Maura clasped Jane's hand tightly between her own, "She never considered that I couldn't live without her. We've been through so much, even times when we didn't know we were struggling together…we were. Her last breath would have been mine as well. Even if I was still physically breathing, it wouldn't have been the same, it wouldn't have been life."

"Jane? Anything to add?" Caesar asked as he dabbed dramatically at his eyes with a handkerchief.

Jane shook her head, "I love you," she whispered to Maura.

"I love you too," Maura whispered back as Caesar signed off.

And with that the broadcast was over. The film crew clapped and Effie cried. Korsak smiled through the glint of tears in his own eyes. Maura slumped forward into Jane's embrace and sighed into her neck, "There are times when everything seems so dark, so hopeless…and then there are the times when you put your arms around me and I know that I will get through this. We will get through this."

"We will," Jane kissed her cheek, "I won't lie to you and tell you it will be easy. But, we're going to go home, together, and we're going to take it day by day. Being with you before the Quell were the only times in seventeen years the Games faded to the background."

Maura chuckled and cupped Jane's face, "When have things ever been easy for us?"

* * *

><p>A car with tinted windows drove them to the train station. In a whirlwind they were on the shiny silver bullet that had brought them to the Capitol and that would now take them home. Jane gasped and turned quickly as the door shut behind her, she realized in all of the commotion she had only waved goodbye to Cinna; she hadn't even given him a hug or told him what his efforts had meant to her. She tried to comfort herself that she would see him again in a few months when they would be forced to tour the districts for a round of victory ceremonies. The Games after all, never really ended.<p>

When Peacekeeper John Martell stepped into the boxcar, Jane, Maura, and Korsak froze. He glanced shiftily at Effie and then at his district charges. Clearing his throat he turned fully to the escort, "Ma'am, I'm the new Head Peacekeeper for District 8. If you would excuse us, I have some…security issues to discuss with the victors and their mentor that won't concern you."

Her duties were largely done for the time being. In District 8 she would only step off the train with them to complete her escort and deliver them back to their people and then she would be on the train and back to the Capitol. "By all means," Effie smiled as she sauntered to the bar and began to pour herself a drink.

Martell led them through to the next car. "I helped Patrick Doyle man the hovercraft to get here. And now I've been promoted in his stead."

Korsak's brow crinkled, "How? How are you not dead like Doyle?"

Martell snorted, "Well, quite frankly…I lied. Told the Capitol authorities I had no idea why Patrick needed to get to the Capitol. That he told me he had received personal orders to report to the Training Center for a classified security operation and that because the hovercraft requires two operators I was ordered to assist him in travel only. I stayed on the hovercraft and went willingly with the President's guard when they came for me."

"Besides," the gruff voice emerged from the door to the next car. His face was nearly unrecognizable on the left side where Crowe had beaten him but the right was the clear and stony visage of Patrick Doyle. "Reports of my execution have been greatly exaggerated."

As Maura slowly moved towards him, Martell joined Korsak and began to whisper in his ear. The once seamstress and now victor didn't notice that the room was vacated save for her and her biological father. "Thank you," she said as she stood in front of him.

Doyle nodded, "I became…I guess…friends of a sort with your parents and Jane's mother throughout this ordeal. Angela told me what happened before. I would have willingly accepted death if it I meant I spared the two of you from that horror again."

Her hand lifted tentatively to his face and ran softly down the bruises and abrasions on his cheek, "Did you escape? How are you here?"

"I'm not a good man." He reached for her hand and pulled it from his cheek to clasp. "I've done many things for which I am not proud. I've missed your entire life. But, I was given an opportunity to be here now. I took it. Perhaps the specifics are a story for another day."

* * *

><p>Martell waved Korsak and Jane to follow as he led them to the sleeper car, stopping in front of one of the cabin doors. "The reports of dissent in the districts aren't exaggerated. What is remarkable is the emerging underground in the Capitol itself. Patrick won't tell me how he found his way to the train this afternoon. All I know is there he was…and he wasn't alone."<p>

He opened the door and stepped aside, ushering Jane in. The man had his back to her but stood and turned and she instantly recognized the doctor with the kind eyes.

"You…" her voice quaked as she stared at his face, unmasked, he was more than eyes, more than another face of the Capitol. In plain clothes, he was just simply, a man. He shifted to his left and revealed the patient laid out on the bed. "Tommy!" Jane exclaimed. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice. She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hands through his hair and down his face.

Korsak was overcome. He wept unabashedly as the doctor placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Angela…" he murmured, "I can give her back a son."

"Hey, baby brother," Jane smiled, chuckling when Tommy grimaced. He had always hated it when she called him the baby.

His eyes tracked over to the man who had rescued him and then back to Jane. He brought three fingers to his lips and held them out to her.

"I understand now," Jane whispered as she wiped a tear from his cheek. She looked up at the doctor, "You saved him. You could have been killed, but you saved him. Thank you, doctor…" she realized she didn't even know his name.

"Lucius," he answered. "Dr. Lucius Black. Or rather…that's who I was. Now I'm…an exile, a fugitive I suppose…the newest member of District 8."

"We can always use doctors in District 8," Maura answered from behind as she slipped past him.

Jane reached out her hand, "Maura, come meet my brother."

* * *

><p>It was only after Dr. Black has assured her over and over that Tommy would not wake again until morning that Maura was able to coax Jane to the dining car for some dinner. Effie was kept ignorant of the existence of the extra passengers.<p>

Exhausted, emotionally and physically, Jane and Maura finally retired to their room. As they lay in bed Jane began to think of home. Of her mother and moving past their estrangement. Of her father, who had to be out there somewhere. Maybe he would come to see her. She thought of Tommy and tried not to let the fear of him being returned to the Capitol steal the joy of his liberation. Maura had promised they would all learn sign language so that Tommy could speak again. It all made her think of Frankie; the one missing piece she knew could never be had back.

Maura's thumb settled lightly in the tear trail wetting her face. "What are you thinking about?"

Jane sniffled, "Having Tommy back. Seeing Ma. Wondering if Pop is out there somewhere…"

"Frankie?" Maura whispered. Jane nodded. "One day…" Maura began with a surety in her voice that prompted Jane to open her eyes, "We'll have a Frankie of our own. She'll have beautiful, dark hair, just like yours."

"She?" Jane asked as she placed her hand over Maura's on her cheek.

Maura nodded, "Francesca. But, we'll call her Frankie."

Jane ran her thumb across the ring on Maura's finger, "One day. But…not as long as the Games still exist."

"After we've burned it all to the ground," Maura stated.

"Yes, after that."

Snuggling in closer to Jane, Maura found her constant comfort in the close contact of their bodies, the trading of warmth from skin to skin, the soft thump of Jane's heart against her own. "Tell me a story."

It was the first thing to cross her mind, the one bit of honest truth that Caesar couldn't have. Jane smiled and pressed her forehead against Maura's, "Once upon a time, there was a great grey wasteland of brick, concrete, and stone. And in it lived a people as grey, drab, and crumbling as the buildings around them. But, there was a little girl that lived in that prison of rocks and mortar. She had sandy brown hair streaked with honey that shimmered when the sun dared to shine through the clouds of smoke and exhaust that always hung in the air. She had eyes like jade pebbles flecked with gold. And the first time I saw her she wore a dress, blue like the ocean must be, and she smiled so bright it stole the air right out of my lungs. I fell in love with her that day, and I've loved her every day since."


	27. Homecoming Part 1

**Author's note: **So what I intended as the "last chapter" got a little long and so, I have decided to split it into two parts. This is part 1 and part 2 (the actual last chapter) will be posted very soon, I promise!

**CH 27: Homecoming (Part 1)**

The train had left in the early evening, by late afternoon of the following day it made the scheduled fuel stop that would then carry them all the way back to District 8 by the next night. Their transport was no longer on lock down, no need for guards to bar the exits. There was nothing to run from now, the Capitol always surmised; they were being taken home.

Maura hopped off the steps of the tail car. Tall grass that she remembered being green when they passed en route to the Capitol had yellowed in the rapidly cooling weather. Dry and withering it hissed and crackled as she waded through it. A lifetime ago she had run through grass as tall, sometimes taller, in the arena. _Or was it yesterday?_

Closing her eyes she blindly walked forward, hands outstretched and skimming across the pointed tips of the rustling blades letting them scratch and tickle at her skin.

_Maura, I want you to tuck your face into my neck, ok?_ The elephant grass had whipped at her arms and legs and pulled strands of hair loose from her ponytail, but in the end she had suffered no cuts, unlike Jane. Maura opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder, the train was still within eyeshot, but far enough away. All around there were only flat expanses of the same, yellowed grass, swaying as the wind tripped through it. But, in front of her, in the small clearing she had found herself in, a spray of flowers: lilac, pink, and purplish-blue sprouted over a foot tall and then wove through the waving grass. Maura sat down on the cool ground and plucked a petal from one of the flowers.

"I could barely see your head once you sat down," Jane remarked as she joined her. "Daisies?"

Maura shook her head, "Aster flowers, they're common for prairie land such as this. They bloom and last into the late fall when most other flowers have succumbed to cooling temperatures and died."

"I like how nature does that: beauty for every season," Jane muttered as Maura lifted her finger and let the solitary lilac petal float away on the breeze.

"Sometimes, you say such beautiful things and you sound very much like a philosopher," the corner of Maura's mouth quirked up into a half smile as she glanced at the woman sitting next to her.

"Only sometimes?" Jane quipped as she ran her fingers through Maura's hair. "And the rest of the time?" Her touch trailed down to Maura's cheek and settled there.

"You are always a surprise to me," Maura took her hand and held it tightly, taking comfort in the warmth of the touch against the chilly breeze that swept across the treeless plain. "You rarely spoke, all those years you came to me to be patched up. Did you know that? I always felt like I did all the talking, you sat there, staring at me, doing all the bleeding. It hurt me so much to see you like that. I wanted to do more to help you; I just didn't know how."

Jane chuckled in an attempt to shrug off the guilt and pulled Maura into her arms, "I liked listening to the sound of your voice, watching you do your work. I was so terrified I would say something stupid and you would laugh at me. That's why I never asked you out, because if I didn't ask, you couldn't say no. I…I'm sorry I hurt you. All those times, I thought I was just hurting myself."

Leaning back further into Jane's arms, Maura closed her eyes and relished the permeating heat that covered her back and shielded her from the chill, "We could run away. Right now. Just start running and never look back. We could survive out here, between the districts, just the two of us."

"They'd hunt us," Jane answered with sadness in her voice. "I don't want to spend every day looking over my shoulder."

"Won't we be doing that anyway? We're his prey now, forever, always in his crosshairs. Won't we be looking over our shoulders from now until…"

"No," Jane cut her off. "We're not, and we won't." She scooted out from behind Maura and stripped off the leather jacket Maura had made her. She zipped it up and tied the arms to close the collar and then up-ended it and handed it to Maura to hold open. Without saying a word, Jane began to claw at the loose soil around the flowers, dumping handfuls of dirt into the jacket-now-pot.

"What are you doing?!" Maura exclaimed, curious but not entirely amused at how her garment was being appropriated.

"Taking them with us. If I'm going to help you grow your own plants and herbs for your ointments and salves, I better start practicing my gardening." She dug and dug until she filled the jacket almost completely with soil and then carefully loosed three clustered bunches of flowers, one in each color, and added them to the stolen soil. Jane looked down at her hands, completely covered in dark brown dirt, thick black lines under each fingernail. Without thinking, she reached up and wiped the thin sheen of sweat from her brow.

Unable to contain her laugh at the muddy swipe across her lover's forehead, Maura set the makeshift flowerpot aside and chuckled uncontrollably as one tiny bead of sweat carried a streak of mud down Jane's cheek.

"I have mud on my face, don't I?" Maura nodded and continued to laugh. "Oh, you think that's funny?" Maura nodded again. Jane lurched forward reaching for her as Maura gasped and tried to scoot backwards. But, Jane caught her by the hands and pulled her into an embrace, running one, dirt-stained hand over Maura's cheek as she eased her down to the ground and pressed their lips together.

"Jane! Maura!" Effie's high-pitched and annoyed voice cut through the air. "It's time to disembark!"

Jane pulled back, reluctantly letting Maura's lower lip slip free from her kiss. Effie called out again with more urgency. Threading her hands into Jane's hair, Maura guided her down again and initiated another kiss, sliding her tongue into Jane's open mouth and moaning slightly as the kiss deepened.

"Jane! Maura!" Korsak's voice joined Effie's.

With a growl of frustration, Jane jumped to her feet and pulled Maura to hers. She gathered up the jacket of dirt and flowers and they made their way back to the train. "What's wrong, old man? Think we'd run off?" Jane winked as she passed her mentor and friend.

"With you, anything is possible," Korsak mumbled under his breath in jest.

Effie stood, mouth agape at their appearance, hands and faces streaked with mud, broken blades of grass and fine dust clinging to their disheveled hair. "And to think! I had begun to believe some of the Capitol's civility had worn off on you!"

Jane dropped the laden jacket just in time to catch Maura as she wheeled around, lifting her off her feet she covered Maura's lips with her own and swallowed the anger that had nearly been unleashed. As she felt the tension in Maura's body relax, she lowered her feet back to the stony gravel that filled the space between the tracks. Only the sound of the rocks shifting beneath their feet broke the otherwise stark silence.

"Funny thing," Jane looked back at Effie, "that word…civility. In school we learned about all these cultures from humanity's past. Cultures that were the most advanced of their time, cultures that we would call barbaric today. They considered themselves civilized. How do you think the future will judge you and your Hunger Games?"

Speechless, Effie watched as Jane, Maura, and Korsak reentered the train.

* * *

><p>Water ran out of the tap clear and down the drain a milky brown as Maura held her hands under the cool stream. Small clumps of caked dirt clung to the white porcelain basin. Closing her eyes, she smiled as Jane pressed into her back and brought her hands around and under the water to wash as well. Jane's hands were dirtier from having dug up the flowers and the water ran almost black as she scrubbed the heavy, nutrient-rich layers off. District 8 had long been stripped of soil worth growing anything in; in fact, the district had very little dirt not covered in concrete. For someone who had never left its steel and barbed wire confines there was no way to know that land existed beyond that could cultivate life. Jane watched the mud coil around the basin and disappear down the drain, saddened that she had to leave it behind.<p>

With her eyes closed Maura imagined that they were like any other normal couple, sharing space at the sink as they washed up after gardening. Jane's hands covered her own as she pressed more fully against her back, lips placing a soft kiss to Maura's temple and then wandering down to her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her jaw, under her ear causing Maura to shiver and hum pleasurably at the sensation. The kisses continued, down her neck where Jane let her tongue taste Maura's skin and suck lightly over the dampened area. But, they weren't like any other normal couple. Maura opened her eyes as the fantasy faded.

Turning in Jane's arms she brought the washcloth to her lover's face and wiped the streak of mud from her forehead. Arms wrapping around each other their lips met, neither taking the lead but trading control back and forth. _This is us_, Maura thought as Jane again moved to her neck before lifting her up and carrying her to the bed. _This is how we came to be, maybe how we were meant to be_. Suddenly, the feeling swept through her that no two people who hadn't been through the horror that they had could possibly love each other as much as they loved each other. Maura kept her eyes closed as Jane laid her on the bed and climbed on top, her lips never ceasing to honor every inch of available skin with a reverent kiss. She felt her blouse being unbuttoned and Jane's hand slip inside her bra to palm and free her breast, her thumb circling and caressing a hardening nipple.

It was only when Jane's hands moved to the button and zipper of her trousers that Maura remembered that they hadn't touched each other this way since the night before the Games. "Stop!" She bolted upright, pushing Jane back to rest on her knees. Maura looked down at her open blouse, one free breast, and her pants undone; her heart was pounding with excitement and lust and desire ached where Jane had been about to touch. "We haven't since…"

"Before," Jane finished the sentence for her. "If you're not ready…"

"No," Maura shook her head. "It's not that. I…" she looked around at the plain suite, "I don't want the first time since…to be here. Not on their train, under their sheets. We didn't have a choice before. One or both of us was going to die and we needed it then. But now, I want to be home. I want to be with you in our bed, not here."

With an understanding smile, Jane leaned forward and pressed their lips softly together before rolling off and stretching out along Maura's side. Shedding her dirt-stained pants, her shirt and bra she motioned for Maura to join her. Tossing her clothes aside as well, Maura curled tightly into Jane's side and rested her head on her lover's chest. Her fingers traced the invisible dagger scar that the Capitol doctors had erased as Jane's hand caressed along the very real lash scars that still marred her back.

"We have the rest of our lives," Jane said with strong conviction.

* * *

><p>The pen scrawled furiously across the paper, digging deep into the fibers leaving an imprint of every word several pages deep. He wrote so fast, pressing the pen so hard into the pad, Jane almost feared he would tear through it in his exuberance. They had taken his voice, but they couldn't take his words.<p>

_She doesn't come with you to visit me. Is she scared of me?_

Jane smiled and shook her head, "No. She wants to give us some time alone. You'll have plenty of time to get to know her back home. She says she'll find a book so that we can all learn sign language. It'll be easier for you than writing everything down."

_She's beautiful._

"She is," Jane smiled, "and she's…all…mine." She punctuated the last two words with a jesting poke of her finger to Tommy's shoulder. He'd always had an affinity as a young boy for chasing after her best girlfriends just because he knew it got on his big sister's nerves.

_Everyone can see how much you love each other. They made us watch the Games too of course. _ The pen came to a stop and he took a long look at his sister. _You've never loved anyone as much as her. Except maybe for Fr…_

Jane reached out and stopped his hand. "Don't." She squeezed his hand. "You were both my brothers. I loved you both. Just because Frankie and I had more similar personalities didn't mean I loved you any less. And now, we're going to make up for all those years they took from us."

Tommy nodded. _Ma…You don't think she'll be afraid of me, do you?_

"You should be afraid of her," Jane chuckled. "You do realize she's not going to let you out of her sight for like…maybe ever." He tightened his grip on her hand in reply and she could see that sadness that seemed to always linger in his eyes. "No one's going to be afraid of you."

_What they did to us…to me. It makes you feel like you're not even human. Like…some kind of monster._

"I know," she whispered. She did know. She knew exactly what it was like to feel like some kind of plaything, like less than an animal, and then when it's all over to try and reclaim yourself but see something unrecognizable looking back at you in the mirror. "But, you're not a monster. You're my hero."

* * *

><p>The late afternoon sun jogged along the right side of the train. It washed over Maura's body and warmed her face as she sat curled up in the bay window of the lounge car. The light touch of Jane's hand on her shoulder startled her. "You scared me," she said with a congested voice as she cleared her throat and reached quickly to wipe the tearstains from her cheeks.<p>

Crawling into the window along side her, Jane ran her hand down one damp and reddened cheek, "Talk to me."

"I see her face…Star's…when I close my eyes. I see her face gasping for air, the poison running green through her veins, her throat swelling, and tears of excruciating pain streaming from her eyes in the place of a scream that she has no air for. I see that when I close my eyes and I did that to her. I feel his blood on my hands…Casey. I want to wash them all the time because I feel it, hot and thick on my hands, staining me red forever."

Jane put her hands out palms up and waited until Maura cradled her hands palms up in them. Her thumbs swiped back and forth across Maura's trembling skin. "You told Caesar you couldn't imagine anything worse than watching me die…"

Hot tears fell from the corners of her eyes again and Maura crinkled her brow at the horror of the thought.

"We didn't win the Games, Maura. We survived them. When you look at your hands and you see his blood, imagine if it was my blood…"

Maura looked down as crimson seeped out of her skin and painted her pale hands red. "The night of the Quell announcement, when Korsak brought you to me, there was so much blood. Most of the wounds weren't that deep; but, there were so many. I was terrified that I was losing you one drop at a time. When Casey was on top of you, it was that night that flashed through my mind. Your blood on my hands and all over my table. I didn't even think; I just acted. And now, it turns out that Patrick Doyle is my father. When I think about that, all of the facts and the rumors about the things he's done, I can't help but wonder…if there's some kind of biological predisposition…that there's this…completely other and monstrous person inside me…that given these exigent circumstances I can be like Doyle, maybe even like Hoyt."

"Stop it!" Jane barked and brought Maura's hands to her chest and held them tightly. "You are nothing like that monster, do you understand me? Nothing! The Games are designed to turn us into these people that we are not. I spent years hating myself for it, calling myself a murderer when I looked in the mirror because of what I did."

Maura hung her head, "How do I forget them then?"

One finger eased under Maura's chin and lifted it until their eyes met, "You don't. You never forget. I killed three people in these Games. Eight in my first Games. I can still see the faces from seventeen years ago; I still remember their names and every single moment of the last minutes that I took from them. Crysta, from District 9, she let me slit her throat. For a long time I thought she was the one who found freedom. But, then there was you, and every time I hurt myself and came to you, I wanted to hurt myself a little less because I wanted to see you again. Just the sight of you made me happy. And I spent too many years thinking I didn't deserve to feel that way. I do. You do. We do. The night of the Quell announcement, before I passed out I remember you saying: _I've got you_. Now, it's my turn. I've got you, Maura. I understand. You're not alone; you're not lost. I'm going to help you through this just like you're going to help me, because even when it seems like I'm fine, there's still a lot of me that's messed up. But, I trust you to remind me why I deserved to survive and why I'm worth being loved. Do you trust me to do the same for you?"

Maura maneuvered into Jane's lap, tucking her head into Jane's neck and relaxing under the comforting embrace. "I trust you, absolutely and without question. I'm tired of crying; it makes me feel so weak. Help me find a better place."

Jane took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "I think we should cry when we need to, and scream if we want to; because, I did the holding it all inside thing for a lot of years and I can say without a doubt that doesn't get you anywhere."

"We'd better buy lots of tissues when we get home," Maura chuckled softly.

A momentary silence settled between them. _Home. When we get home._ Jane let the words repeat in her mind. _We._ In those terrifying instances of darkness her mind had dragged her into since they were both saved Jane reminded herself that they were both going home. It didn't absolve her of what she had done in the arena, but it reminded her that living, more than just surviving, gave at least some honor to the unwilling sacrifice the other tributes had made. She would live for herself, for Maura, and for them.

"Your turn to tell me a story," Jane mumbled into the crown of Maura's head as she kissed her.

"What kind?" she asked, turning in Jane's arms to sit with her back flush against Jane's chest.

With a smile Jane tightened her arms around Maura's midsection and kissed her cheek, "Tell me about Francesca."

Maura smiled. "I was talking to Lucius, he said in the Capitol they have a procedure that allows two women to have a baby that is biologically theirs." Despite their talk of rebellion, she knew the likelihood of toppling Hoyt was slim to none; still, she had been unable to stop her mind from running with the fantasy. "I see a little girl, maybe around six. You're chasing her around, but not really trying to catch her and she's laughing so hard that we're both laughing with her. Her dark hair is curly and unruly and it has debris in it where you two have been roughhousing in the grass. When she smiles, her front teeth are missing, and there's always this look of pure joy in her big brown eyes…"

"Hazel eyes," Jane interrupted, "like yours."

"Ok," Maura agreed. "She walks around in your father's old jacket because she wants to be just like you, and it swallows her up and drags on the ground around her…"

"Hmm," Jane clucked her tongue, "I see her in dresses. You make them of course, but she insists on picking out which one she'll wear for school each day. Sometimes I try to fix her hair in the mornings and put it up with a matching bow but it's always crooked and she laughs at me and tells me mommy does it better."

Maura closed her eyes as Jane's hand rubbed light circles across her stomach, "Promise me something."

"Name it."

With a deep breath, Maura sat up and looked in Jane's eyes, "Promise me we'll have this."

"Some day," Jane nodded, "I promise."


	28. Homecoming, Part 2 and Epilogue

**Author's Note: **Well, this is it! As always I want to thank all of you that have read and commented on this story. Your support and thoughts as you have read along have been wonderful and I really appreciate the time you all take to read and **patiently** wait for updates lol

As I have mentioned previously, I do have ideas for a sequel. But, I have been writing in the fandom fairly consistently for about two years and I think I'm going to take a break for an extended while to work on an idea of my own before taking up that sequel. Never fear though, I'm sure I won't be able to resist coming back to this universe in due time.

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><p><strong>CH 28: Homecoming, Part 2<strong>

It seemed as if they should have everything to say to one another; yet, they sat in silence, trading awkward glances instead of words. Doyle shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he thought about what his old friend Ricky had said back in the Capitol. That day before the judge all those years ago, he truly hadn't been afraid. Nor had he been afraid during any of his hustles before they were caught. And strangely, despite his forced conscription as a Peacekeeper, nothing about that job had ever scared him either. But, now he sat in front of the one thing that did truly terrify him: his own daughter.

"You look like her," he said, breaking the silence.

"Hope?" Maura replied.

He nodded. "Your mother. I was glad you looked like her, that even with her gone I could still see a glimpse of her every day that I saw you."

_Your mother_. The words made her uncomfortable, the implication that the man sitting in front of her was her father even more so. "I have a mother. And I have a father."

When Maura reflected on her childhood it wasn't a perfect picture. She had felt alone, a burden at times; she'd felt as if her adopted parents didn't always know what to do with her or how to relate to her. But, then she had been reaped, and Constance and Harrison Isles had been brought into the Justice Building to say their goodbyes.

She couldn't recall ever having seen them cry, but tears streamed down both of their faces. _Darling_, her mother's voice cracked as she sobbed through the words. She threw her arms around her mother as two sets of arms laden with fierce desperation enveloped her. _I love you_, Constance whispered. _I should have told you that more. We_, her father corrected, _we should have told you that more_.

Sitting face to face with biology, suddenly Maura felt intensely loyal to them. "I meant it, when I said thank you for what you did in the Capitol. But…"

Doyle leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, "…but you don't need me to be your father. Is that it?" Maura nodded. "I know. But, I was…once. Stolen moments late at night after you were born. She would sneak away to meet me so that I could hold you. I was your father then. And then she died."

"In the fire…"

He nodded. "She was behind on her quotas, pulling extra hours after shut down to try and catch up. I stopped by that night to bring her some food and something to drink. A few hours later the fire calls came in. By the time I got there…" He steeled his jaw and fought the urge to cry. "You were with her neighbors. The last time I held you, was to take you from them and hand you to Constance when I made the notification."

"That wasn't the last time," Maura whispered, remembering the night she had shielded Jane from Crowe's whip.

"The last time I held you as your father." Doyle's gaze fell to the window and the rapidly passing scenery. "We'll be home in a couple of hours."

"What will you do?" Maura asked.

"I haven't thought about it." It was a lie. It was practically all he had thought about. Everything that ever was Patrick Doyle had been stripped away. "I'll survive; I always do."

_Survive_. "No," Maura countered. "Now, you live."

* * *

><p>Jane watched Maura obsess over her appearance. Smoothing her hands over the clothes Portia had left for her, checking her makeup once more in the mirror. She had practically styled each individual hair on her head. Jane liked the interview pants Cinna had made but paired them with the blouse and leather jacket Maura had given her before the Reaping. "You look beautiful," Jane wrapped her arms around the fidgeting woman and held her still.<p>

"I don't want…_**him**_…" the word came out between gritted teeth, "to be able to see on the broadcast that I've been crying for almost three days."

"You look beautiful," Jane repeated as she kissed her neck. "No one will be able to tell."

"Is everything…arranged?"

Jane nodded, "Everything will be focused on us. Martell will take Doyle, Tommy, and Lucius off the back of the train. He says he already has transport arranged. Tommy will be taken to my Ma's. Doyle and Lucius, somewhere safe for a few days or however long until all of the excitement dies down."

Maura turned in Jane's arms and slipped her hands under her blouse to knead at the skin of her back. "I'm scared."

"Me too," Jane closed her eyes and ran her fingers through Maura's hair for comfort.

"What are you most afraid of?"

Jane pulled back and failed to mask an impish smile, "Not of what you'd expect."

Maura cocked her head and arched an eyebrow with question.

"What if…" Jane took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, "…what if your parents don't like me?"

Maura laughed and brought her hands to Jane's face, her fingers caressing softly up and down her cheeks. "Seriously? That's what you're afraid of?"

Jane nodded, "I'm done being scared of him. I won't let him terrify me anymore. I have you and we have our future, and that's the only thing that matters to me now."

_Our future_. Maura repeated the words in her mind. The words gave her hope and strength. All her life she had felt powerless. The Games were designed to break them, and plenty of times since they had ended, as she lay mired in the never ceasing tears that wracked her, she had felt broken. But, then she looked at Jane, felt her touch, and the fear dissipated and the pain lessened. She wasn't weak; in spite of the Games she knew that now. And more and more she was coming to understand that she wasn't broken. Damaged, maybe, but not broken. "They'll love you. They'll love you, because I love you."

* * *

><p>Grass and trees waned in the final miles leading into District 8. Brown, yellow, and green melted into the familiar grey. The outskirts of the district were dotted with the brick and concrete ruins of where civilization had existed before the Dark Days. Jane and Maura watched it as it passed; yet, it wasn't depressing. The Capitol had been bright and vibrant, full of color and technology, but it had been miserable. District 8 wasn't pretty by the same standards, but it was home. It was where they had been born, where they had grown up, where they had met each other, and where they had spent years being hopelessly and secretly in love. Their families were there. Every good memory was there, except the few they shared from their times alone in the Capitol.<p>

The train slowed as it crept along the district's fence, slowing further when it passed the outpost that led to the only station, and finally came to a halt as they pulled up to one of the platforms. Only the families, and of course the Capitol camera crews that had been flown in ahead of them were allowed on the platform, but the raucous cheers of the crowd beyond the station could be easily heard.

Maura squeezed Jane's hand and smiled as Jane squeezed hard in return. Korsak stepped in front of them and adjusted his tie, "How do I look?"

Jane chuckled and put her hand on his shoulder, "You look good, old man," she said with a wink.

He smiled, "You know the drill. The cameras will be everywhere, trying to get all the shots for the homecoming broadcast that will air across Panem tonight. Make sure you say a few words directly to the cameras as we leave the platform. Peacekeepers will escort you to the Victor's Village and there, Mayor Pike, will present Maura with the keys to her house. I suggest you go in and wait there for the camera crews to pack up. When they're gone, I'll come get you and we'll go to your Ma's."

They both nodded.

"It's time! It's time!" Effie squealed with delight as she clapped her hands.

"Places, places, everyone," Jane mocked quietly as Maura pinched her side and shushed her.

Any shred of joking levity that had existed in those few moments rapidly disappeared as they stepped off the train.

Angela was standing as close as the Peacekeepers would allow, wringing her hands in anticipation, tears already streaming down her face as she waited. Jane pulled her hand free from Maura's and in two long strides was in her mother's arms. "Ma…" she croaked, her body trembling uncontrollably as she cried.

"My baby…my baby," Angela muttered over and over through her tears as her hands clawed and clutched at Jane's hair and gripped desperately at her back. "Never again, never again…"

Maura stepped onto the platform, covering her mouth as she stood, overcome at the sight of her parents. Constance reached for her, her hands shaking as she lightly grasped Maura's wrists and pulled her hands away. She ran her thumbs through her daughter's tears and kissed her forehead as she pulled the frozen woman into her arms. "My darling, oh my darling." Maura exhaled, closing her eyes as she let her arms wrap around her mother in turn. She felt her father's hand on her back and his lips as he kissed the top of her head. "I love you," Constance said, pushing Maura back just enough so that she could look her in the eye as she said it. "I love you, and I'll never let another day pass without saying it."

"I love you too," Maura choked out. She took a deep breath, feeling Jane's presence behind them she looked over her shoulder. Taking Constance by the hand she turned, "Mother, this is Jane."

Though they were completely surrounded by the crushing press of cameras, none of the intrusion seemed to register. Jane stood, holding Angela's hand as Maura faced her, holding her mother's hand. Constance reached up and cupped Jane's face for a moment, "I can never repay you for what you have done." She reached for her ring finger and pulled the band Harrison had given her forty years ago from the trembling digit and slid it onto Jane's finger. "Perfect fit," she whispered.

Maura looked at Angela and was immediately pulled into an enveloping hug. "Thank you," Angela whispered as she held her tightly.

"I didn't…" she began to protest.

Angela shook her head and squeezed tighter, "You gave me my daughter back," she whispered. "She was dead…for seventeen years…and you brought her back to life. And now…" she smiled as she reached one arm out to Jane and ushered her into the embrace, "Now I have two daughters."

* * *

><p>She hadn't expected it to be furnished. Maura stood in the foyer of her victor's house, one arm looped lazily around Jane's waist, her head resting on a tall shoulder as she glanced around what she could see of the bottom floor.<p>

"They're all the same," Jane stated, guessing the question that hung on the tip of Maura's tongue.

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

Jane chuckled under her breath, "You're supposed to live in it."

She knew that wasn't an option. Maura no more wanted to live in the physical reminder of the Games than Jane had for the past seventeen years. "No," she stated simply.

"It is a lot of space though," Jane remarked. "A lot more space than one back room in your apartment provides. And Lucius…"

Her eyes widened and Maura looked around the space with a different perspective, "A clinic!"

The front door creaked open, all of the houses had been built at the same time and only three, aside from some basic yearly maintenance, had ever been opened. Korsak poked his head in first and then stepped all the way inside. "They're all gone. The cameras, Effie, back on the train and back to the Capitol."

Jane eased out of Maura's embrace and moved towards her friend and mentor, "For now," she reminded him solemnly.

"For now," he nodded in agreement. "We'll worry about the Victory Tour later. I think there's someone waiting in your Ma's house that needs an introduction."

Hand in hand and with Korsak leading the way they walked two houses down to Angela's. Jane paused in the doorway. Since Frankie had died she had been inside only once: the day she looted her mother's fridge in order to take food to Maura.

"It's just a house we visit…because…our family is here," Maura said softly. Jane took a breath, held it, and then let it go as she nodded, walking through the door as Korsak opened it.

Savory smells met them as they entered, Angela and Constance, clad in matching aprons turned around in the kitchen to greet them. "See," Maura said reassuringly.

"Our family," Jane smiled in reply. She looked at Korsak with the silent question. _Where?_

"In Frankie's room," he whispered. Tommy was taken before her first Games had even started, he'd never had a room in this house and Frankie's room had been closed and remained so for fourteen years.

"Ma," Jane's voice quaked and suddenly she felt so overwhelmed that she wasn't sure she could go on. Maura's hand settled on her back and rubbed lightly up and down. Angela stood in front of her, a look of confusion tinged with fear on her face as she took in her daughter's demeanor. "There's something else…" she reached for her mother's hand and lead her up the stairs and down the hallway to the last door.

Angela balked as they approached, trying to pull her hand out of Jane's grasp only to have her daughter tighten her grip. Maura stepped up beside her and slid her hand into Angela's free hand.

"It's a good thing, Ma," Jane forced a smile and gave her mother a little jerk. "Trust me." She opened the door and reluctantly Angela followed her in.

Tommy stood, tugging on his shirt to try and minimize the wrinkles and running a hand through his hair to smooth it out. His bottom lip quivered and his blue eyes welled up with tears. He wanted more than anything to call out to her, to tell her he loved her, to tell her how sorry he was, he did the only thing he could; he mouthed the word: _Ma_.

The room was starkly silent save for the ragged sound of Angela's erratic breathing. She pulled her hands free from Jane and Maura and covered her mouth to try and muffle the sobs. It took a few seconds for it all to register but when it did every emotion propelled her forward to the now man standing in front of her. But, it was Tommy that wrapped her in an embrace as he buried his face in her neck and joined her in crying.

"Tommy," Angela bawled as she held her son. "Is it…is it really you?"

"It is," Jane answered for him, sniffling as she stepped up next to them. "One of the doctors brought Tommy to me in the hospital," as they all stepped back to look at each other Jane reached out and clasped her brother by the shoulder. "He protected me, Ma. He saved me from Hoyt."

"Where have you been!? What did they do to you!? I have so many questions…" Angela began to talk faster and faster. "You have to tell me everything. I want to know everything. But, you're here now. You're home. For good, right?" She looked at Jane.

"It's ok," Jane whispered to him as she felt his body tense under her touch. "Ma," she said softly. "He can't…tell you." Angela's brow furrowed in confusion and she glanced back and forth between her daughter and her son. "They made him an Avox, Ma. He can't speak."

"An Av…" There were no Avoxes in the districts, but everyone knew what they were. She looked at her son; it was him, he'd grown, filled out, become a man in the past seventeen years. But, the look in his eyes, the shape of his face, it was Tommy; despite it all, he was still her baby boy. Her hands cupped his face and she smiled. "They didn't make you anything. You're Tommy Rizzoli. You're my son. You know what I've learned?" Angela reached for Jane and pulled her close, "We can get through anything. The Capitol has done its worst, and we're still here."

"They can't break us," Jane said, extending her hand to Maura and bringing her in with them.

"They can't make us who we're not," Maura wrapped her arms around Jane and nestled into her side.

Angela swiped her thumb over her son's lips, "They can only silence us if we let them."

* * *

><p>It was almost shocking to realize that everything she owned fit in one large duffle bag and a small cardboard box. Her mother had packed her apartment the night of the Reaping, choosing to get it over with before the Games even started rather than having to face the possessions after she had died. Because, she was supposed to die. With her old broken down furniture and second hand dishes thrown out or given away, Jane walked away from the Victor's Village with one duffle bag of clothes over her shoulder and a cardboard box in her arms.<p>

The streets were dark and familiarly silent. She'd walked them many times at late hours when sleep wouldn't come or did and plagued her with nightmares. It occurred to her there were probably celebratory fights at Cavanaugh's, their homecoming was the perfect excuse for a bare knuckled free for all and booze fest, since the formal celebration wouldn't be until they returned from the Victory Tour. Jane chuckled under her breath; she reckoned Martina J would be particularly lit tonight.

"What?" Maura asked as she linked her arm with Jane's.

"There will be fights at Cavanaugh's tonight," she replied as they finally arrived at the entrance to Maura's building.

"Oh," Maura said softly, the mention bringing back terrible memories of Jane, beaten, bloodied, and near death.

"But," Jane looked at her and smiled, "I don't go there anymore," she added as they ascended the steps in the building.

Maura's apartment was just as it had been left. Fitting dummies stood in varying states of dress, design sketches and orders still pinned to the walls rustled as a window was cracked to air out the stuffiness. The bed was made, each corner still perfectly crisp so many weeks later. "Our mothers are very different."

"Maybe she believed you would be coming home."

"Jane, no one but you believed I would be coming home," Maura sat on the sofa next to her and took her hand. "She's an avoider. Or…she was. Maybe things will be different now. In any event," Maura shrugged, "we didn't have to spend the night at your mother's."

Jane laughed and nodded.

"It's a little bizarre though," Maura scanned the room. "This place is just as it was. It really hasn't been that long, but I…I am so different. Oh!" Everything just as she had left it, it reminded her. She stood and walked into the kitchen and returned with two glasses and a small, unmarked bottle of brown liquor. "Korsak gave it to me before the Reaping. You and I were supposed to…"

Jane sniffed the liquid and then filled the two glasses, "We were supposed to get drunk after he was reaped. If they hadn't pulled your name and they had pulled mine…"

"He was going to volunteer in your place," Maura acknowledged.

Lifting her glass, Jane looked at Maura, "To Vince Korsak, friend and mentor." She paused and a wry smile crept across her face, "To Haymitch, the only man I've ever let call me sweetheart…"

"To Barry Frost," Maura finished.

Jane nodded, "To Frost," they clinked glasses and downed the liquid. Reaching for the cardboard box of things her mother had packed, Jane pulled out the old wooden cigar box that held the photo of her and Frankie. She smiled as she ran her finger across his face.

"He spoke to me…once," Maura said, resting her chin on Jane's shoulder.

"You never told me…" she leaned back against the sofa and brushed a strand of hair back behind Maura's ear.

"It was the first day of school after your Reaping. I think I had been in a haze all day. The worst was the empty chair at lunch where you always sat. I was walking home that afternoon and I never even heard the boys behind me; they ran by and knocked all of my books and papers out of my arms…"

She just stood there and watched as the breeze blew the papers down the sidewalk ahead, some floated into the road. It didn't seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw a boy in the street zigging and zagging and plucking the papers from the air and ground until he had caught them all and joined her on the sidewalk. Maura knelt and stacked her books and when she finally looked up, tears trickling down her face, Frankie Rizzoli stood in front of her and held the papers out.

He looked down at the top paper, an exam, before she took them, _Wow, you're really good at math._

_Thanks_, she smiled back at him. _I could have gotten them; you didn't have to…_

_My sister would have helped you, so I figured I should. Actually, she probably would have chased those guys down and punched them._

_Your sister is Jane…I'm sorr…_

_And you're Maura,_ he cut her off before she could apologize. He was tired of people apologizing like he was never going to see her again. She was going to win. And she was going to come home. _My sister thinks you're really pretty_. With that, he was off, jogging back across the street and down the opposite sidewalk after his friends who had kept walking.

Jane pulled Maura forward and kissed her, the bourbon still fresh on their lips and tongue. "Why didn't you ever tell me that before?"

"He meant so much to you…it made me feel closer to him having a memory that was only mine," she glanced towards the photo on the table, "But, now, I wanted to share it with you."

The story made her want to share her happiness with her lost brother even more. "He would have been really happy for me," Jane said as she smiled, "He would have loved you."

Taking Jane's hand, Maura circled her thumb over the scar on her palm and then pulled her lover to her feet. Silently, she led them to the bedroom and gently pushed Jane to sit on the edge of the bed. She stepped back and shed her blouse and skirt, reaching for her bra but stopping as Jane stood and pulled her arms down.

"Let me," she whispered, as her hands gripped Maura firmly at the hips, lips finding purchase on an offered neck. Her hands roamed around the waistband of the undergarment and then to the small of Maura's back. Fingertips traced slowly up her spine and disposed of the bra in their path. Jane trailed her kisses upward, pausing to let shallow breaths tickle the expectant lips that parted in wait. Tenderly, she closed the divide and relished the sensation, her tongue sliding over smoothness to taste warmth, Maura dueling and claiming her mouth in turn. Her hand caressed up a smooth, though still too-thin side to cup Maura's breast, taking her time to feel the weight in her hand and circle a hardening nipple with her thumb. There was nothing to train for, no schedule to keep to, nobody outside the door waiting to hurry them along. "Now, we live."

Maura nodded, popping the last button on Jane's blouse and pushing it off her shoulders, her bra following soon after. Jane shimmied her pants and underwear over her hips and stepped out of them before guiding Maura back to the bed and pushing her to lie down. She hooked her fingers inside the last remaining garment and slowly slid the panties down Maura's legs until they were free.

"Now, we live," Maura whispered as Jane started at her neck, kissing down to lave each nipple with her tongue, sucking softly until Maura moaned and arched her back in response. She moved lower still, nails scratching where her lips had been, kissing down Maura's stomach and through soft curls as legs opened wide in front of her.

With her eyes closed, Maura writhed for a moment against the ministrations of Jane's tongue and suckling kisses where she ached the most. Hands twined in a mess of dark hair, Maura pulled herself up and waited for her lover to meet her eyes. "Come up here," she commanded softly.

They crawled to the center of the bed and Maura cupped Jane's face as she hovered over her. "I thought…the night before the Games would be the last time. And every day after, all I wanted was to have you one more time. I waited so long for you."

Jane brushed a tear from Maura's cheek and then one from her own, "We. We waited so long for each other." She kissed her, smothering gasps and moans with her lips as her fingers claimed her lover. Slowly, and deeply she thrust, curling her fingers as she pulled almost out and then stroking forward again. When she felt Maura draw close and tighten around her she slowed even further, stilling for a few moments, bringing her back from the edge only to start again.

Maura opened her eyes, a light sweat collecting on her brow and across her chest. Jane tasted the salty perspiration as she kissed her and stroked Maura's flushed cheek with the back of her hand. "Please, faster," Maura pled.

Obligingly, Jane quickened her pace, rolling her hips to leverage her thrusts as hard and deep as possible. As the body beneath her arched and shook with release, she stilled inside, focusing her thumb in quick, tight circles on Maura's clit to extend her release.

Purposefully, Maura's body eased back to the bed, relaxing as the last aftershocks coursed through her. She looked up at Jane and pushed her hair back from her face and over one shoulder. Her finger traced the arch of one eyebrow, down a prominent cheekbone, across the heated skin of her cheek and over the curved shell of her ear. Her thumb pressed into the swollen vein that ran down the side of Jane's neck and felt the furious pulse of blood as it raced through her. Maura smiled, raising both hands to caress across the slope of strong shoulders, shoulders that had carried her so many miles and refused to leave her behind. The scar on her chest was gone but the others were still there, all the reminders of the only way Jane knew how to visit her for too many years.

"I should have let them erase them," Jane murmured as she watched Maura's finger slide over every mark.

"No," Maura shook her head, "they're memories."

"Painful ones."

Maura smiled, "They're our courtship. Unconventional, yes, but I know the story behind every one. I love you, every part of you, even these scars just as you love me and mine."

Her hands moved lower, one trailing over Jane's hip to her back as the other disappeared between her legs. Maura let her fingers drag slowly through Jane's wetness and paused, waiting for permission just as she had before. They had broken through this barrier the night before the Games, but then Hoyt had brought the horrible memories back.

"I'm yours," Jane whispered, leaning down for mutual reassurance through a kiss. "All of me. Yours and only yours."

Maura entered her, taking Jane's right hand in her left and lacing their fingers together. Jane rolled and bucked in rhythm with her strokes, closing her eyes and gasping softly for air as deft fingers brought her to a furiously quick orgasm, pulling her hard over the edge as she cried out and clasped Maura's hand to her heart. The strokes slowed and then ceased and Maura eased free to run her hand over Jane's still trembling thigh and up to where Jane held her hand. She ran her thumb over the ring her mother had slid onto Jane's finger and she felt Jane twist the ring she had worn since the arena in turn.

"Marry me," Jane said. "For real. Tomorrow. At the Justice Building with our family and friends around us. Marry me. Let our mothers bind our hands. Be my wife."

With a shaky breath, Maura nodded.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue:<strong>

Jane pulled on the nicest pair of jeans she had. They were old, but clean and free of holes. They were about as close to being going out…or getting married in clothes as she was likely to find in that one duffle bag that held every garment she owned. She fully expected her mother to scowl and act positively horrified. Glancing around the room she spied a silk camisole on one of Maura's fitting dummies, it looked about her size so she slipped it on and found that it fit quite nicely. The oxblood leather jacket and her best pair of boots completed the ensemble. She raked her hair with her fingers one more time and knocked on the bedroom door.

Maura stepped out still clad in her towel and gave her soon to be wife the once over. Jane closed her eyes and grimaced, waiting for the disapproval.

"I don't…really have a suit…or a dress. Or…you know…anything nicer," she tried to explain.

Maura pulled one side of the jacket back and eyed the camisole with a smile. "You look very handsome. You look like you. You looked stunning in everything Cinna put you in. But, I like it most when you look like you."

She closed the door and dropped the towel, padding across the small room to stand in front of the closet door. "It doesn't matter," she told herself, but deep down she wished she were more prepared. The design had lingered in her mind since childhood, passing years and maturity had made a few alterations but the silhouette remained relatively static. She had sketched it once, late one afternoon when business was slow and her hands were idle. That night Jane had come with a dislocated jaw and two lacerations that needed stitching courtesy of her latest victory at Cavanaugh's. She tore up the sketch and burned it afterwards.

Jane paced noisily outside the door, "Maura?"

"I'm trying to find something to wear," she called back. She wasn't really; she was standing in front of her closed closet hoping for a miracle.

"You know I don't care what you wear!" Jane called through the door. "I'd marry you in that towel if it was the only thing you had to keep from going naked. Actually…"

"Jane!" Maura gasped.

"Maura," her voice was softer this time. "I know you probably have some absolutely gorgeous design that you've wanted for this moment all your life. But, you just said you like it most when I look like me. Well, I like it most when you're…you're just you, when we're us." Jane balled up her fists in frustration and whispered to herself, "I'm not even making sense." She took a deep breath. "Maura, in thirty years I'm not going to remember what you were wearing. I'm going to remember the look in your eyes and the words you say when we make our vows."

"Jane," Maura shot an exasperated look towards the closed door. "You remember exactly what I was wearing thirty years ago when you saw me for the very first time."

"Dammit," Jane growled, "I just had to tell you that story, didn't I?"

Maura chuckled and with resignation flung open the closet door, "Oh!" she gasped out loud.

"Good Oh? Bad Oh?" Jane questioned.

A garment bag she didn't recognize hung on the closet bar facing out, a note with her name on it pinned to the front. Suddenly, she remembered the last thing Cinna had whispered in her ear as they said their goodbyes: _When you get home, there will be something waiting for you._

She pulled the note from the bag and opened it. _She likes you in blue. ~ Cinna._

Behind the zipper and beneath the bag hung a silk dress in vibrant royal blue. Maura stepped into it and slowly zipped it up, watching in the mirror as the dress came together and conformed to her curves before falling free past her hips in flowing waves that dropped just below her knees. Donning a pair of heels she opened the door.

Jane's jaw dropped and her eyes dragged from head to toe and back up again, "I lied. In thirty years, I'll definitely remember what you were wearing."

* * *

><p>Jane had entered the Justice Building exactly two times her entire life. Both times following the Reaping as she was shuttled off to what should have been certain death. Many times in the past seventeen years she had walked by and imagined the building in ruins. Now, she stood in front of it, with her arm around Maura and prepared to walk into it for the first time of her volition.<p>

It was strange, she mused, not an item ever moved; it even smelled the same as it had both of the times she'd been forced through its doors: like freshly cleaned marble mixed with dusty antiques.

Everyone was waiting for them, their parents, Tommy, Korsak, even Doyle. It wasn't a big wedding party, but it was everyone that mattered. Only three were missing. Jane brought her hand to her jacket pocket and squeezed the picture of Frankie that was nestled within it. A long time ago people believed in an afterlife, something called heaven where people lived for eternity when they died. She wasn't sure if it existed or not, if it did she hoped Frankie and Hope were watching. And her father…he was out there somewhere. Maybe one day she would see him again and introduce him to Maura.

The judge led them into one of the ceremony rooms. It was just like all of the other rooms, the ones they were taken to after the Reaping, only without tables and chairs to make for more space. The civil service in District 8 was nothing epic; the judge recited his parts from memory and cued them to respond when required. The only thing that varied from ceremony to ceremony was the binding and the couples' promises.

Jane held Maura's hands and stared unwaveringly into her eyes as the judge arrived at his last part, "Do you, Jane Rizzoli take Maura Isles to be your wife? A vow you make of your own free will; a commitment to honor and love her, to hold steadfastly from this day forward?"

Tears welled up in her eyes as she smiled, "For every second of every day, I do."

"Do you, Maura Isles take Jane Rizzoli to be your wife? A vow you make of your own free will; a commitment to honor and love her, to hold steadfastly from this day forward?"

Maura took a shallow and labored breath, "Forever, I do."

The judge smiled, "In District 8 it is our custom to bind the hands of those who make this solemn vow."

Angela and Constance stepped forward as Jane laced her right hand with Maura's left. Their mothers each held a strip of cloth: Angela, a piece of lace yellowed with age; Jane had seen it in her mother's wedding photo, in her grandmother's, and in her great-grandmother's. Constance held a strip of white silk, hand embroidered, little by little since not long after Maura had been placed in her arms.

Each started just below their own daughter's elbow, securing the strips of cloth and then passing the ends back and forth between them with seamless ease. Jane and Maura watched in awe, not knowing that the two women had practiced all morning with Tommy and Korsak as the brides.

Angela looked into Jane's eyes, "You have made a vow before the law and those who love you…"

Constance, tears streaming down her face, looked at Maura, "You are bound, one heart, one soul. Turn to each other and make your promises."

Jane didn't try to hide how her hand trembled as she brought it to Maura's face, "Maura, I promise that through our darkest days I will be your truth, absolute and unwavering. When you have doubt, I will be your strength, and when you think you are lost I will help you find the way. And when you smile and when you laugh, when there is happiness and when there is joy, I will be the partner always by your side, sharing everything with you."

"Jane," Maura's voice cracked as she tried to speak and tears that paralyzed her chest and settled in her throat threatened to render her mute. She raised her hand and covered Jane's hand that still rested on her cheek. "I promise, that my heart beats only for you. Each breath you take, I breathe with you. There is no storm; there is no trial that will make me waver. You are the one and only love of my life and not a day will pass that that love doesn't grow stronger. And if ever you find yourself on the brink of giving up, know that my love will hold you up."

Their lips met in the midst of a chord of subtle sobbing, their own and that of those around them.

The judge waited until their lips reluctantly parted, "You are bound and promised. Jane Rizzoli and Maura Isles, I pronounce you married."

Jane pulled Maura into her, their cheeks pressing softly together as she ran her hand comfortingly through sandy brown hair. "I love you," she whispered. "I always have."

"I love you too," Maura whispered in return. "I always will."

* * *

><p><strong>A very special thanks:<strong> I'm not sure there are enough words of thanks I can give to the two ladies that so graciously agreed to beta this story: Angela_V from twitter and Reallybigpineapple here on FFN aka ClillaryHinton1 from twitter. I started this story completely on a dare and asked for some beta help to keep me on track as I blended the two universes together. I'm not sure either of them expected a 28 chapter commitment. Most importantly, I could not have asked for two more hilarious betas, who kept me in constant stitches over their often random, and usually sexually depraved shipper comments. Shout out to #Haysak, #Dotell, #Conela, and ghost #Frostie. When so ever the sequel may get taken up, I hope you ladies are up for round two!


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Update:**

I realized that I promised to post a note in this story to let you all know when I had begun posting the sequel and I completely forgot to do that. So, if you were following this story and have missed it, the sequel to Tribute has been started. It is called "Victor" and will shortly be moved to the Rated M section and updated with the 4th chapter.

Thank you all again for following and commenting on Tribute and I hope you enjoy the sequel as well!


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